In a small town during this time of the year, there's usually only one place that you can find mostly anyone you're looking for. They won't be downtown shopping or uptown eating sushi because let's be real: do we even have an "up" town versus a "down" town?
They will all be in the same area, lined up singled filed across the home dugout fence. They will more than likely have on basically the same colors, and they will be thinking about nothing more than what's going on for the next 7 innings.
the kids are runnin' around barefoot with dirt all over their britches and a powerade mustache on their upper lip. They'll be this team one day, and their hearts race at the thought of it as they line the fence from behind the plate, sticking their tiny little fingers through the circles of metal & peaking their eyes onto the game of the hour.
It doesn't mean much to some, but to others it's one less game their boy will play.
One less out.
One less inning.
One less catch.
One less throw.
One less hit.
One less run.
One less game.
you see, around here they've been taught to play every game they're apart of with heart, passion, and to the best of their ability. They keep the fact that their brotherhood is still holdin' them all together at the end of the day in the back of their minds, and while it's sometimes tough to pick up & move on from a loss - this team does it.
It may not be instantly, but realizing their mistakes and promising to correct them happens pretty quick after the third out of the final inning has been marked on the scoreboard.
I've realized through being out of high school that all the people who told me "enjoy this, you won't ever have a bond like this again" were right. Even though I've maintained a close relationship with a lot of my high school friends, the sports aspect of it would never be the same without the girls that I grew up playing with.
These boys have shared this dirt their whole lives. The same ball has been in all of their gloves. The sweat has poured down the back of their matching jerseys. Their very own bats have gripped the hands of home run hitters. Their dugout holds laughter, yelling, tears, disappointment, happiness, and bonds that only these boys know about.
The "said to be" story behind it all is:
At the end of the day, as the dust settles from home plate and the sun sinks further behind the feet of the water tower, "life goes on".
"Life goes on" to be more than just a baseball game or a seven inning back & forth between two rival teams. It goes on to fulfill life's greater achievements, ones that far surpass catching a ball or throwing the winning pitch.
Isn't that what people say who don't understand an unconditional love for a sport?
Sure, life very well may go on. But part of life's greatest memories have been made on this field while parents & grandparents stand along side the fence telling stories & reminiscing of their days on this stomping ground. These games, as well as any other related high school sport, build conversations for years to come.
I bet every one of these boys can remember a game they'll never forget. It's branded in their brain, and it's stuck with them forever.
Just because life forces you to grow up, doesn't mean you have to forget about the things that made you happy for 13 years, and just because you have to face the reality of life doesn't mean you should ever let them tell you that this game isn't (or wasn't) important. It's taught you a valuable lesson about respect, honor, courage, discipline, and friendship - all aspects of life that you may not have excelled in without a sport to condition you.
It's guided your character in some way, form, or fashion into being what it is today.
Take that, along with your upbringing & your faculty,
& never forget what led you to being the person you are today because of it.
..and always remember to
thank God for the opportunities he allows you to be a part of each & every single day.
Without Him you are nothing, and without Him you can do nothing.
