From the Other Side of The Edge….
Moments Matter…..
By Joe Facinoli 

Often the smallest events, or chance happenings, can matter greatly in someone’s life.  

Even if they don’t know it at the time. 

It was the quarter finals of the playoffs, in the 11 and under spring baseball league.    The team, which had struggled a lot throughout the year, had nonetheless put together enough wins late in the season to earn a spot in the championship run.  

But this game had gone much like the rest of the season:   up and down, hot and cold, good and bad.   And we found ourselves behind, 10-6, in the bottom of the last inning.  

Our first two hitters went down quietly, but then somehow, with more of that trademark “up and down” stuff, we managed to load the bases.   All we needed was one big hit and maybe, just maybe, we could climb out of that big hole we were in.  

Coaching at first, I was easily distracted by the sudden burst of base running action, and got excited at the possibility of what might happen next. 

Who was up now?.... I tried to remember.   Was it John, our big stick?   He might clear the bases and tie the game, with one smooth stroke, …..could it be him? 

But then I caught the tall outline, and slow, slightly awkward gait, of the next hitter for us, …..and my hopes were dashed.   It appeared to be all over for us now, as Ryan strode ever cautiously to the plate.  

Ryan was a great example of why coaches love to be involved in little league sports, myself included.   His attitude, his “want to”, his determination, and his coachability, are what all parents look for in their kids.  

He was not, however, a very good baseball player.  

He might have been, if he could have seen the ball much at all, but instead needed the large “coke bottle” type glasses, just to make do in the simplest of day to day activities.  

Finding that baseball, though, up in the air as it approached him in the outfield (the infield proving just too much of a challenge), was not one of those activities.  

It would sail right past his outstretched glove, as he tried his best to “meet it”, and very often he wouldn’t know where it was,…..until he heard it come to earth behind him.  

Hitting was not much better for Ryan.   Try as he might, and oh how he tried, he just couldn’t see the ball well enough to ever make any contact.  

That was ever, ….as in never.  

Throughout the entire season, he never hit the ball once.   Not even a foul, not even a tip or a tick,….not even by accident.   He could make out seeing the pitcher winding up, and letting it go, and then he would just swing through the strike zone, hoping for the best,…or a miracle.  

It never happened.  

He was frustrated, sure, but he kept coming back, and trying some more, he loved baseball that much.   And his teammates loved his spirit, and encouraged him all the more.  

Ryan was, and still is, a great kid.   The fact that he doesn’t see as well as others, didn’t stop him from trying.   He could do his studies, and most other things kids do, just in a different way, and at a different pace.  

But he was often shy, and a bit tenuous about new challenges that might be hampered by his sight issue, even as he continued his attempts at these difficult, for him, endeavors. 

He needed a break, or at least something to give him a long awaited boost.  

So, with the sacks jammed, and our season on the brink, I looked across the diamond at my fellow coach, over next to third.   We both had the same thing on our minds, but neither of us wanted to actually do it.  

We wanted the best thing for our team, but didn’t want to hold back Ryan’s efforts, nor certainly not to embarrass him.  

But after a few moments of thought, I called time, and beckoned Ryan to come and chat.  

I explained to him, that with the team in mind, the best thing he could do in this situation was to get on base somehow.   Our big guy, John, was indeed the next batter.  

Ryan gave me a knowing look, but also one that asked:   “How coach?”

I said, “Ryan, ….I’ve never asked you to do this before, but this one time, just stand there in the batter’s box, looking like you’re ready to pound the ball, but don’t swing at all, and just make the pitcher throw you strikes.”  (I mean, this was an 11 year old, out there on the mound, and anything could happen,….right?)  

“If he does, I continued, well, so be it.   But if he doesn’t, then you’ll walk, bring a run home, and we keep the inning alive.”   Ryan bought right into it, even though I was not feeling really good about what I had just done.  

Well, wouldn’t you know it, the pitcher cooperated, and even though Ryan forgot our plan briefly, and swung and missed at the first pitch, four balls followed, and we had new life.   The score was now 9-7. 

I had forgotten whether Ryan had ever even been on base previously that year, but the clomping of those over-sized shoes, skipping and hopping that over-sized body that he hadn’t quite grown into yet, down to first base with the happiest “walk” in the annals of the game, allowed me to remember quickly. 

He was always too reserved, to have it said that he was beside himself here, but if that was possible for him, at that special moment, …he was.   Simply a joy to watch him.   

Tears come easily for me, at times like these, ….and they did here.  

Our next guy up cooperated as well, crushing a ball into left center that may still be rolling on that hard as a rock outfield, and unbelievably, we had won that playoff game in the most improbable of ways, 11 to 10.  

What a great feeling for all those great kids.   Especially one.  

After circling the bases triumphantly, and doing what eleven year old kids do when they are spontaneously excited, we settled everyone down for our post game talk, and awards. 

It was the custom of the league to announce an “MVP” for each game, sort of like participation trophies, but the idea is to make as many of the kids as possible, feel good about their efforts.  

As coaches, we weren’t too crazy about doing this, but this particular time, we knew just what to do. 

I looked at the other coach, pointed discreetly in Ryan’s direction, and we both nodded and smiled.  

We called the boys to attention, and began our post mortems, as per our usual.   But as we got to the MVP award part, it was almost as if the kids were way ahead of us.  

We told them that for his dogged determination, and will to win, and for his constant effort to always do his best, and the best thing for his team, the MVP award for this quarter final playoff game would go to………..Ryan!

The kids erupted, and pounded him on the back and head, and then surrounded him, and made another big pile on top of him, just as they had done a few minutes earlier, after that incredible come from behind win. 

Now mind you, another kid had just hit a walk-off, grand slam home run, winning a playoff game for us that had seemed hopeless, at best.  

But no matter, that kid, and all the others, were in an over the top frenzy that Ryan had been given this recognition.  

I noticed his Mom, off to the side among the other parents, wiping huge tears away, even as I did the same.   And the other adults were all into it as well.   It was the quintessential “feel good moment”, for all who witnessed it, and there were many.  

Years later, I ran into Ryan’s mother at the grocery store.   She immediately recognized me, and came right over to say hi, and to thank me.  

--Joe can be reached at:   joefacinoli@gmail.com 
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© Copyright 2013, Joe Facinoli