Today marks the end of the longest baseball season in the history of baseball seasons. You, sir, have been playing ball since April. You’ve played at least twice, usually closer to 4 times, a week since APRIL. In case you can’t do the math- that is 6 months of baseball.
And I honestly believe you loved every single minute of it.
This fall you played in an 11 and Under team. You, at age 8, were the second youngest and the smallest kid on the team. You knew one other kid on the team, yet you walked in on day 1 like you were every one’s best friend. You didn’t even come up to some of the guys shoulders, but you didn’t blink an eye when it came time to play with the big kid.
Because of your size compared to the other kids, Fall Ball wasn’t your best season. You didn’t get a single hit and you played outfield most of the time. Yet you didn’t complain and you didn’t whine and you didn’t once get down. You just kept getting right back up and and right back into the game. Because you’re so small and a lefty to boot, you got hit by at least one pitch a game as these new pitchers tried to figure out how to throw to you. You wore the resulting bruises like they were badges of honor.
I’m proud of you kid- so crazy proud of you. I admit, I don’t like watching baseball. But I love watching you play baseball. Your joy in contagious and your enthusiasm is impossible to beat. The only time I’ve seen you upset all season is tonight when you realized this was your last game.
So here’s to a six-month break before the fun starts all over again!