A Season to Remember


A ragtag group of 14 and 15-year-old boys played together on a perpetually losing baseball team. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t have talent. The first baseman was tall for his age and had an arm reach that could snag a line drive before it ever had a chance to make it to the outfield. 

Then there was the outfielder who never complained about his position and could run faster than the opponent’s hit—robbing many of an RBI score. 

The stud second baseman was a poor kid from the city’s low income housing. He looked like every other player in his new uniform. But one of the team moms always had a concession stand burger for him after the game.

But the new head coach had big ideas for playing small ball. He’d vex the opponents with an unexpected bunt, scoring a run from third base. And then he'd call for a fake bunt when they were anticipating one—having his batter swing hard at the last second.




The coach also brought in an ancient pitching coach—he was over 80 years old; the boys must have wondered what century he actually played in. But he knew his stuff and taught the pitchers how to read a batter and then throw a diabolical pitch. 

The left handed pitcher’s mom sat in the stands squarely behind home plate, never missing a game nor a single pitch. 

Yet, never a word was uttered by her or any of the parents against an umpire. There was honor in the stands, and respect in the dugout.





Years have passed. Those boys are hard-working men now. Some are married, some are daddies, and a few took a bit longer to grow up.

None are baseball players. 

The left handed pitcher’s mom died of cancer, the mom who made sure the poor kid ate dinner, barely survived heart surgery. 

But for a special season, they all came together to combine their strengths and cover for one another’s weaknesses and they did something they never expected: they won the city championship. It was a season to remember.


Photo credits: #2 Jon Eckert #4 Francisco Gonzales Unsplash

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