The Home Run

It’s past midnight.
I had just woken up from one of those nightmares where you feel yourself falling in a dark vacuum and you never hit bottom. I don’t normally get these nightmares without expecting the onset of a cold --- a-a-a-ah-chooooo!
So I turned the computer on, checked personal and work e-mails, blog sites, read my posts.
A comment from one of my posts has really bugged me and, quite frankly, I don’t think I can get to sleep tonight until I get this thing off my chest…it’s the one from “Quicksand” by an anonymous individual pointing out that my playing softball was an obsession.
I hope this story will help clear some things about me...

On the first day of summer after 7th grade, my middle-school sweetheart Penelope (Penny for short) introduced me to her brother (Cliff) who was out at the Little League fields playing baseball with his buddies. Cliff then introduced me to his friends and, because they were several players short, he asked me to play with them. I spent the entire summer playing with them and eventually joined their team. We were never very good, but one particular game still sticks out in my mind.

I remember pitching this game. My team was ahead by several runs and the game was at the fifth inning of a 7-inning contest. Two more innings and we would have beaten the best team in the League. I remember looking towards the concession stands and seeing a handicap boy about my age. On his feet were plastic orthopedic casts and he walked with a swagger --- no doubt from the bulk of the form-fitting devices, but also I surmised he had some physical handicap with his feet. I may have also noticed he had some form of mental retardation, yet after seeing how happy he was with his dad, I had completely forgotten about the game. I had also absentmindedly ignored the umpire’s verbal warnings if I didn’t proceed with pitching.

I completed the inning and my team was already talking about the handicapped boy before we reached the dugout. Apparently, the boy had asked the other team if he could play with them and the other team agreed. No one in my dugout was laughing or making fun of the situation. We somehow knew that something about this day was going to be emblazoned in our young minds for the rest of our lives. Our turn at bat produced no runs. If anything, I think we were humbled with the idea that the handicapped boy would choose the other team and not us. After getting back in the field, we looked for the boy to come to the plate and take his turn at bat, but he never came. His team however, scored a few runs and I managed to complete the inning still 3 runs ahead.
At the top of the last inning, we saw the young boy at right field. We attempted to hit the ball to him, not to take advantage of his lack of playing experience, but just to get him into the game. However, each time we tried we only popped up. We produced no runs.

At the bottom of the 7th inning, I, Cliff, coach, and the rest of the team had a brief team meeting before hitting the field. I struck out the first two batters, walked the next two batters, but still the handicapped boy was not at bat. After a quick glance at the opposing team’s dug out, I noticed the handicapped boy picking up a bat. He was the on-deck batter. I made four pitches to walk the batter ahead of the boy to load the bases then my coach came to the pitcher’s mound. He was followed by Cliff and several members of the infield. Coach didn’t say a word, but I could read his eyes. I have never seen tears from a man before, but the look on coach’s eyes told us what we needed to do.
My first pitch to the handicapped boy was a lob over the plate. He swung and missed.
I stepped closer to the plate and delivered my second pitch --- much slower than the first. The boy swung his bat and made contact with the ball. The ball rolled towards me and I picked it up. The boy began to run to first at the encouragement of those in the dugouts and the stands. I looked to the rest of my team mates to ensure everyone knew their parts. I threw the ball as hard as I could about twenty feet above the first baseman’s head. The crowd cheering for the boy began to scream louder, encouraging him to run to second base. Our first baseman quickly recovered the ball and overthrew it above Clark’s head at second base, the ball rolled out deep into the outfield. The crowd got another octave louder, yelling for the boy to run to third. Our outfielder picked up the ball and seeing how much the handicapped boy was starting to struggle with his running, threw the as hard as he could into the stands, allowing the boy to run home at his own pace. The boy hit a grand slam and won the game for his team.
I still remember the look on coach’s face. But most of all, I remember the look on the boy’s father as he shook coach’s hand. As the two men hugged, I couldn't see coach's face, but the boy's father was smiling with tears in his eyes. We lost the game but coach told us later that we were the best team that day.

I believe we all have experiences in our lives that define the type of human beings we will later become.

I believe I was placed on this earth for some higher purpose, that what I have set for my own agenda is insignificant to God’s plan for me.

Do I still believe in choices? You bet…
I have a choice to become a decent human being to those around me.
You have that choice too.

For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. - 2 Peter 1:5-7

I'm going back to sleep now.
God Bless you.