Paul Makes The Catch…Almost
Just before my 8th grade school year we moved from a small, rural school in southwest Kansas where I knew everybody, to a big suburban school close to St. Louis where I knew nobody.
I really didn’t understand how things worked in my new world. There was overwhelming noise in the halls as what seemed a thousand junior high kids were moving from class to class. It made it hard for me to remember where I was going. The hallway was not a good place to stop and think or try to read room numbers.
PE class was strange and unnerving, too. For some reason they lumped a bunch of the 8th and 9th graders together into one big class. We had to change into purple gym shorts and white t-shirts and sneakers then head out to the asphalted playground.
An ancient looking guy that everyone called ‘coach’ and his younger assistant with a loud voice motioned towards a softball and a few bats and said, “choose up teams and let’s play!” Then the old guy disappeared and the younger guy sat down behind the backstop.
The older boys began to shuffle us to one team or another as they decided who was on what team and what position they’d play. When field assignments were agreed upon they pointed at a group of us who were leftover and said, “You guys get out in right field!”
Some of the boys had nice, new baseball gloves. I decided I’d bring mine the next day. It was old and worn, and had been left out in the rain or in the dirt but a few of the boys had ones that looked similar.
I stood out in right field for the first inning and finally was relieved when the other team didn’t hit any balls towards me. There were so many of us that I didn’t get a chance to bat.
“Remember your batting order for tomorrow and you’ll get your chance!” One boy hollered. Of course I didn’t remember where I was so I thought I’d just go to the back of the line.
I went in the locker room to change and the young assistant coach greeted us with his loud voice, “Everybody shower before you get dressed. I want to see you all get wet! No exceptions!” I wondered why we had to get wet but there was no explanation.
Soon I was out of my gym clothes and under a nozzle of cold water and rinsed off as quick as I could then hurried back to my locker to dress.
“You guys get in the shower!” An older boy said as he walked by where I was getting dressed near a couple of other nervous looking boys.
“We already took a shower,” we argued.
“Yeah? You’re not wet!” he said walking to me.
He put his hand on my back and started to shove me back to the shower nozzles but quickly realized I was wet. “Well…Okay. Just make sure you shower!” I wondered if he was going to take a shower or just make sure everyone else did.
I looked at one of the other quiet boys and shrugged. He shrugged back as we put on our clothes, even though we weren’t quite dry. I decided that might be the safest. It was just too bad PE was my first class of the day, I thought.
The next morning my team was up to bat first. “You were ahead of me yesterday.” A dark haired boy with glasses said as he motioned towards the line. “And we were behind him,” He said as he pointed at a tall blond boy. I was glad he remembered. Sort of. I looked wistfully at the back of the line.
We moved up quickly as the boys ahead of us made one base hit after another ratcheting up the score. But I didn’t know who was winning. I was mostly thinking about my social studies homework that I didn’t do.
Then after a couple of grounders and a pop fly ball we ran back out into our assigned areas. I tried to get to the middle of the guys in the extreme right field but another boy told me to get closer to the baseline. “Fill in that gap, there,” he pointed. He looked at my old baseball glove and grinned. “Hope you can catch a softball with that old baseball glove.”
“Me, too!” I said realizing I didn’t know the difference between a baseball and a softball glove. Bigger, older, more athletic 9th grade guys were batting. Line drives towards third base and good swings were knocking the softball over heads in left field. The guys on our team weren’t happy as a few runs were scored. “Nobody better drop the ball. You’ll pay if you do!” I heard someone yell.
I wished I wasn’t where I was as I looked over at the guys behind me. The safe spot; deep right field. Then the most athletic looking guy got ready to bat. He took some practice swings and got set as our pitcher released his pitch.
There was a solid sound as the bat made contact with the softball and it flew out towards the boys in deep center field. “I got it,” one boy yelled as he ran back a little then lifted up his gloved hand and seemed to catch the ball with ease.
With the third out I was safe. But then the blond boy I was behind in the lineup went to home plate for his turn to bat. Several boys hollered advice.
“Get the bat off your shoulder.” “Choke up on the bat!” “Square up to the plate!” “Wait for a good pitch!” “Don’t strike out!” “Focus!”
By the time the pitch came the blond boy’s face was bright red. He swung with all his might and completely missed the ball. His body kept turning with his swing til he tripped over his own feet and fell in a heap. Almost all the other boys were laughing but I was just getting more nervous. He stood back up and he seemed to tremble as he readied for the next pitch.
“He’ll strike out,” the dark haired boy with thick gasses said. “I know he’ll strike out. I hope I don’t.” And two pitches later he did. And then it was my turn.
I got all the same advice and commands and tried to remember what to do and what not to do. As I waited for the pitcher to wipe his hands I rested the bat on my shoulder. “Get that bat off your shoulder!” Somebody hollered.
The pitch came in high and outside but I swung anyway. I reached and made solid contact and watched the ball fly out just over the third base line. “Foul!” Coulda been a base hit, I thought. If only.
Well, now I knew I could hit it, I thought, but another boy was scolding me for swinging at a high and outside ball. “Well I ain’t no pro, you know!” I thought to myself.
I steadied myself for the next pitch and was reminded to get the bat off my shoulder. The pitch came and I swung just a little too low and the ball flew up high behind me, flying over the backstop. Another foul.
The comments were now about whether or not I’d strike out. “Watch the pitch! Wait for a good one!” “Watch what you’re swinging at!” “Take your time.” “Focus!” And then, “Get that bat off your shoulder!”
I was determined to hit the ball like I did when playing with my brothers or with the church kids or my old friends back home. The pitch floated towards me and I just knew I could hit it…and I did…a weak grounder rolled pathetically to the shortstop.
Before I could drop the bat the boys were yelling. “Run!” “Come on, run!” but just as I was halfway to first base the ball was caught by the first baseman and I was out.
Back I went to right center field behind the 2nd baseman. I hoped I’d survive another inning without having a ball hit towards me. The next batter had muscles but he also wore glasses. His practice swings and relaxed stance looked intimidating. And I noticed nobody was giving him any advice. They respected him, I thought.
The pitch came and he easily swung into the ball sending it high and right… towards…me. “Oh, no,” I thought as I tried to will the ball away but it just kept coming at me.
The ball started coming down. I readied my gloved hand and hoped. I backed up a few steps and got set.
“You better not drop it!” Someone yelled. “Let someone else catch it!” The catcalls and denigrating remarks came from the boys all around me. I nervously reached toward the softball and with a slight thud, it bounced off the tip of my old baseball glove, falling to the ground behind me and quickly bounced away.
“Run for it you idiot!”
“Told you he’d drop it!”
“Get it, get it, Run!”
“Throw it to 2nd base! No, 3rd. Aw! Come on!”
I spun around and tried to swoop it up in my glove like the pros do on TV. But that didn’t work. Finally I grabbed it with my right hand and turned to throw it.
The batter was fast approaching second base and everyone was yelling for me to throw it to second or third or home. I couldn’t tell for sure. I decided I couldn’t quite throw it to third or home and if I tried it might go wild and I’d just get more derisive remarks.
One boy was jumping up and down by second base and I threw it to him. Of course then the yells were, “What are you doing? Throw it home!” The guy I threw it to swung around and threw it towards the catcher at home and the ball got there just after the batter stepped on home plate.
“Safe!” The assistant coach yelled. “Three runs scored and now you’re in the lead!”
I walked home after school that day all alone and feeling a little hopeless. In my mind I played over and over what had happened, trying to tell myself what I should have done and wondering why I didn’t do better.
Years later, thinking back to that day I told myself.
“You didn’t run away. You hung in there and tried.”
“You did the best you could the best you knew how.”
“You might have failed, but by no means were you a failure.”
And I decided that was good advice.
James 1:12
Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him.
Colossians 3.23
Whatever you do, work at it with your whole being, for the Lord and not for men,
Jeremiah 17.7
But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in Him.