His own junior varsity season over, Matthew came to me and asked if I would take him to Pendleton for the varsity teams first playoff game. He knew that he wouldn't play, but he just wanted to be around the game and the boys he has played baseball with since he was small. I wanted to take him but it would mean eight hours of driving for just a two hour game. Nobody else from the JV team was making the trip. But Matthew really wanted to be there.
Like a lot of kids he started playing Little League as soon as he could. The picture above is from 2002. But after a summer or two our town switched to the "Junior Baseball" league which meant that each year all the boys would be sorted into three groups based on playing ability; average, above average and exceptional. Not blessed with a ton of natural athleticism (he takes after me that way) he was graded into the average group, called "National", that first year.
But this is what he loved to do. When not playing for his regular team, Matthew was always organizing neighborhood games either in our cul-de-sac or in our backyard. He would make posters and place them on the group mailbox on our street or take them door to door trying to get kids to play. The gate in our side yard still has the outline of the stickers he used to write "HOOD FIELD", the old location of his tike sized ballpark.
The next year he ranked the same, National, but had a great coach who became a family friend and for several years playing at this level was just fun and didn't matter. But as Matthew got older and neared middle school years many of his closest friends started playing the higher American or Federal level ball. He wasn't really embarrassed about it, but with his love for the game he expected to move up.
During the winters he would get in as much baseball as possible, which in dreary western Oregon meant indoor lessons. BioForce, a baseball academy, was his winter sanctuary and he told me over and over on the way home how good it felt just to throw the ball and be around the game. At home he would stare out the window at the rain-- like Rogers Hornsby. I knew what he was waiting for.
As parents we tried to make springtime happen sooner for him by taking our March vacations in Arizona. Starting off the baseball season early with the warmth of pro training games was something we all enjoyed, but Matthew was the main reason we went.
In his last year of junior baseball Matthew went to tryouts and really gave it his best effort. But by then the prejudging and labeling of years of playing at the lower level was too much for him to overcome. He would play his last year at the same level he had played all the previous- at National. Soon after the start of each season Matthew would emerge as the unofficial captain of the team. The coaches saw his desire and heart and his teammates admired his devotion and knowledge of the game. For Matthew the other things were more important than raw talent.
He ended his last game by scooping a hard hit ground ball at his shortstop position, quickly running over and stepping on second base to get one out and then throwing down to first to complete a double play. His team slapped him on the back in the post game huddle and I noticed small tears in his eyes as he knew he had played his last JBO game. I felt his mixed emotions too. It was the end of a long time, middle school and junior baseball were over.
What seemed like an impossibility just a short time before became a remote chance--he would try out for the high school freshman baseball team. "Stro", as the head coach is known, was a no nonsense type of guy. Shaved bald, tanned, with a goatee and bulging eyes he is Mr. Intimidation. But he also had a reputation for leaning toward kids with a positive attitude, good grades and plenty of heart. You had to have skills to offer but attitude was important to him too. Maybe, just maybe, Matthew would have a chance against kids who had been sorted higher and played on more advanced teams during all the previous junior baseball years. It was a long shot but he had nothing to lose. He had been practicing his pitching and would try to go out for the freshman team as a pitcher.
The tryouts are really two weeks of very hard practices. Pitchers and catchers would report for two hours before school and everybody would practice for three hours after school. In all, he would be at school from 6 am to 6 pm. For five hours every day Stro had a chance to check out his hustle, talent and determination. Every day when I picked him up, exhausted, I'd ask him how it went and he'd reply that he was told to come back the next morning. At the end of the two weeks he had made it to the final day of cuts. He walked into Stro's office to find out and got the news--he was on the team.
The season was one of a huge door opening up for Matthew. He was an equal now, just one of the team. When not pitching, he played first base. Never as strong as most of his team, his hitting was not his strength, but his pitching and defense were solid. In one memorable late summer game he came to the mound in relief after most of the other pitchers had given up huge hits and he shut the other team down in the last few innings. The Bowmen had lost the game but he had proven his ability to make good teams miss the ball.
This year was less stressful. After his summer league performances it seemed a sure thing he'd be on the JV team. He played well during the frequently rained out spring season this year. The team won all but three games - but there are no playoffs for junior varsity. His season being over until summer ball, he's been enjoying a short break but felt the need to follow the varsity team to Pendleton for the playoff game.
I had initially shrugged when he asked to go and even that very morning I wasn't sure if we would do it. But I can feel my son moving away from me. At 16 years old he separates more and more all the time, doing his own thing and weaning himself from his parents. He doesn't seem to remember or really care how much time we used to spend together when he was smaller. All I know is that my time with him is getting short. So if he wanted to spend all day with the old man there really was only one answer. I sent a text to his phone: "Still want to go?". "Can we?" came back when he was between classes. "Yes. Meet me at the office at 11". "k, thx!". The top picture is from my phone on the ride back home after the game.
The varsity lost the game -- despite our long drive. But it's baseball and there is always another game. Most of those same players will be playing summer league ball next week. And the my boy, who never played higher than National, will be right there with them...throwing strikes.
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