The boys of Summer

 Every once in awhile, driving around the hometown of Farmington MN, I'll see ghosts. Not real ones mind you. This isn't that kind of story or blog. It happens mostly while driving south on Pilot Knob as it hits 195th. I realize this is a boring detail for anyone reading this who does NOT live in my hometown. There are some baseball fields to the left, Akin fields. It's while driving by here that I usually see these ghosts. The ghosts are more like memories. It had to have been 2005 or 2006, and it was on these fields where my sons first played baseball. As did, and do, so many countless young boys in the area. So, now, many years later, I find it very easy to get swept up in the innocent memories of those hot summer afternoons and the giddy and carefree boys who reveled in the greatest game of baseball. When I drive by and see that there are actually teams practicing or playing there, I have to stave off jealousy. The kids playing there probably don't know just how good they have it. And for the most part, neither do the parents. It's still pure. There is undoubtedly a kid in center field, sitting down and playing in the dirt, while his coach is yelling and motioning for him to go get the ball that just got hit over his head. Parents laugh and baseball is fun. I'm definitely not writing this to bash on the business that baseball becomes. No, that's just part of life. Innocence is fleeting. Sometimes its in an instant, and sometimes it takes longer. For me, it took about a decade. And, that is why I'm writing this.

I love baseball, always have and always will. I was born into a Cardinals family, right smack dab in the middle of the holy land. I grew up idolizing the big league birds and my early heroes were Tommy Herr, Willie McGee, Bob Forsch, the mighty Jack Clark, and I could go on and on. I was in the 6th grade when we won the series in 1982 and I'll never forget the love and pride that wrapped up the entire city and surrounding regions when that happened. Heart break in 1985 and 1987 showed me that baseball can be as cruel as it is fulfulling. I never played organized ball myself. We played neighborhood ball up the street and we did it religiously. A tree was second base, a patch of worn dirt was third and if you hit the whiffle ball over the street, well, that was a homer. I was never really good, but we had fun and my love for the game continued to grow. Fast forward to being a parent and having boys. Morgan played a couple of years and I can honestly say that I loved watching his hits as much as any that would come later from my other son. There is nothing as gratifying as watching your child compete, and then to have something good happen to them. It's simply everything. Morgan played a couple of seasons of in-house ball and it just became apparent that it wasn't a love or passion for him. He went on to develop loves for other things. But, his younger brother, Noah, was starting to play T-ball at this time, and after his practice or "games" were over, he would come with me to pick up Morgan, or wait for him. This is the earliest memory that I have that Noah was different somehow. At least compared to the limited sample size that I had. When we left games or practices with Morgan, the game ended for him. He could and would shut it off and leave it all at the field. Not so with Noah. He lived it. Baseball was everything. I'd throw to him while waiting for Morgan. I loved it but didn't think much of it. But, then I started to notice others watching us. Noah was pretty small. Always kind of was, and is, but more on that later. So, here is this small kid and I was throwing all sorts of stuff to him and he caught it all. I didn't even really notice at first. But he started to range farther and farther. And I'd throw higher and faster and send him deeper and deeper and he just didn't blink an eye. Older kids would cast him a glance and give him a smile and/or the obligatory "nice stuff kid". So, T-ball led to a couple of years of house ball for Noah as well. But, again it was different. Noah wasn't the kid playing in the dirt. Noah, and another small kid named Payton, were clearly playing at a level that was higher than their teammates. And I dont say this to be boastful at all, it was simply a fact. And, as we discovered, all of the house teams had a handful of kids that were standing out in similar fashion. House ball ended on a sour note, as Noah lost in their playoff game to a team led by this Paul Bunyan of a kid named Brock Mogensen. But, loss aside, we were told about a brand of baseball that was for the kids who lived it and loved it all the time, just like Noah. And, in the spring of 2008, we nervously dipped our toes into the pool of travel baseball. Noah didn't care. He just wanted to play. That was all it was ever about. Each year clouded this a bit more up until the last few where that fact seemed a distant memory. But, back then in 2008, he was simply a kid who loved baseball and wanted to play, all the time.

I promise I'm getting to a point. This is a blog mainly to preserve a whole hell of a lot of memories, for me and more importantly for Noah. It would take forever to recap year by year, or team by team, or game by game of Noah's baseball journey. So, I"ll be brief. Or, kind of brief, for me anyway. Never ever forget a spring night, sitting around a circle in the back yard of the guy who was our new travel baseball coach. Noah had to try out for the first time in his life and was placed on the 10AA Farmington Tiger team. And, in an instant, we, and more to the point, Noah, met some key figures in his baseball sojourn. The three coaches on that team are three men who made such an impact in our lives that I personally owe them more than I can ever repay. Garrett Beck. Wow. How do I sum this guy up. Kind of like a baseball guru/savant who was Noah's first real coach and would become such a role model and someone who thought it equally important to teach the boys life, not just baseball. Larry Lewis. Wow again. Larry was someone that we had came into contact with in house ball and my first thought was that this guy is now coaching my son, and its the same loud mouthed arrogant guy whose team beat the crap out of Noah's house team and seemed to enjoy doing it. Well, Larry is just about the nicest guy ever to coach my kid. Heart of gold. Loud? yes. Arrogant? yes. But, the most supportive and loyal coach for his boys. Kevin Conrad. Forget what I said about Larry being the nicest coach. Look up "nice" and you'll see Kevin's picture. Kevin knows baseball inside and out and again, with the loyalty and support. That team will always hold the most special place in my heart. Yes, they won a tournament which was fun, but it was just the purity and the sportsmanship and the close knit bond that was evident from day one. No one really knew any different. We all got along and the kids had the time of their lives.

Maybe on the next baseball blog I"ll try and recapture each and every season, somehow documenting all the highs and lows to preserve. For this one, I'll try and just sum it all up the best I can, and the quickest I can. Double A led to years of Triple A, and then came fall baseball and eventually club baseball. Baseball became a year round event. There was no off season anymore. And in so doing, baseball was more than just Noah's thing, it became our thing. It became the thing around which we planned our year. I kind of feel bad in that our other two kids were probably deprived of vacations and/or other things due to baseball taking up such a space in our world. And along the way, wow, the memories. The places seen, and the people met. The competition waged. The life lessons learned. No way can I even begin to do it the justice it deserves. There was Cooperstown. I could write a piece just about that week. Travelling out there and back with Devin and Dylan and Noah, along with Garrett and Brian. The week of a lifetime. If you've never been, there's just no way I can make you understand the emotion and splendor of that place and of that time. A whole town, and region devoted to the glory of the game. It's like stepping back in time and the only thing that matters is the game of baseball and the impact it has on the lives of boys as they stand on the doorstep to becoming men. When fall ball was no longer enough, Noah, as well as a group that will be tied to him and to each other forever jumped into club baseball. The idea being to compete with the kids from the south who play all year long. The St.Paul Saints. There were trips to all over the country. Together, to play baseball. The parents all bonding and drinking and playing cards and even drinking a bit more. The boys allowing us to live vicariously through them every time they took the diamond. Las Vegas, Kansas City, my hometown of St. Louis. Arizona, Florida, and later on with another club team, Georgia. The human reaction is to think your kid is fast tracking to the big leagues. Early on, I felt as if Noah was the greatest ball player alive. Then, you get around other kids that love the game and are skilled and the thought changes to....he's the best player in town, or on his team. Again, dumb and naive parents. Then you start to travel and see kids on other teams in other parts of the country. And, suddenly you start to realize that there are some really really good players out there. And that as serious as you THINK your kid is taking it? It's not even close to what the next kid is. Then, the idea of making the big leagues is swept away and you hope and think that well, he'll just get the free education and play in college somewhere. Then, travel ball ends and high school ball starts. Well, maybe he can walk on somewhere and keep playing that way. Each year, the realization kept growing that those early and foolish thoughts we had as parents were just that. You love your kid and you overvalue things prob. too often, and then your eyes are opened. This is a lesson that cost me a relationship or two and I"d def. do a few things differently, but again, I digress. Through the years, Noah was just blessed. He started off the small kid and all these years later, he still is. Several coaches told him, told us that size doesn't matter. It's heart and effort. Tell yourself that no one will out work you. Thank you so much Matt Paulson for those words. What a cool dude. And early on through all of the travel years, he breezed through tryouts on talent alone. Noah never has been the one that wanted to work his tail off. Part of me wishes he had been. I"d love to see what would have happened had he had the discipline and ethic to be one of those gym rats. But, just not the way he is wired. He'd show up to tryouts and kick ass, never having really prepared that much? Well, that lasts only so long. Each year, more and more kids drop out and the ones who are left are working their butts off. Day and night. You just can't hope to get by on sheer talent when the other kid has the talent AND is a weight room beast. And, that folks brings us to today.

One quick shout out to the group of boys that I will forever associate with this time in Noah's life. I don't intend to leave kids or parents out so I"m only going to mention the ones who were the "ones". The guys that have always been there. Ayden Lewis. Pretty much from day one. Such a joy to watch this kid grow into the player he is now. Colton Ralidak. Left the game too early in my opinion,and still one of the nastiest lefty hurlers that Noah every played with. A couple years after the initial jump into travel came the next two of the "group" that I"ll never forget. Trevor Brettin. One of Noah's earliest best buds and once Trev got to the team, no way was he ever going to leave. So solid. And, then, there's Mikey Frederickson. Mikey is one of the two best players that I think Noah ever was able to play alongside. Along with Cameron Smrekar, Mikey is the one player that I can see making it far. Not selling anyone else short by any means, because the game of baseball is such an unpredictable thing. But Mikey is special. And even better of a kid. These 4, along with Noah formed a fivesome that played alot of ball with, and it was just fun to be around them. There were so many others and too many to list all of them, but this group of five created magic on the field. My favorite infield of all time has Mikey catching Colton, Noah at second, Trevor at short and Ayden at third. Thank you boys. Or, thank you young men. You probably have no idea of the joy and love that you have delivered to us your adoring family and fans.

Here I am at the end. I apologize for rambling on this long. It's taken me away from writing my novel for starters. July 22, 2017. A legion state playoff game against Woodbury. Win and keep going. Lose and its over. The Tigers already with one loss in the double elimination tourney, a hot and sultry Saturday showdown with Woodbury would decide if the season continued or not. Spoiler alert, the Tigers lost the game. But, I watched this game with a heavy heart and to be honest, I didn't care one bit about the outcome. What no one knew then, and will now, is that I was watching my son play his last baseball game ever. His life of baseball, and conversely our life of baseball had reached the end. An end that nearly all who play reach sooner than is desired, but reached nonetheless. I wont share the conversations between father and son leading up this game and this moment, but suffice it to say that the kid is at peace with it and I knew he was serious the night before when we talked. Reduced to a platoon role at this stage of his career, one that has absolutely nothing to do with any politics or preferential treatment or anything other than the simple math of the game, I knew he was slated to start this game and that even if they won, it would be his last starting. Now, if this was Hollywood, or some kind of magical fairytale story, I'd tell you that Noah had multiple hits and that he came up in the late innings with the game in the balance and delivered the key hit to win the game and that he was carried off the field a champion and oh my what a moment. But, that's not how baseball works. Nothing is handed to you. The guy on the mound cares not one bit about your cute story. He wants to sit your ass back on the bench. No, Farmington was short-handed and got drubbed. Noah's last game of what was a storied run was a 12-0 beating. He struck out in his first at bat. When he came up for his second and final at-bat, I knew it would be it. This game wouldn't see a nine inning conclusion. I looked to the heavens and uttered a silent plea, a prayer of sorts. A pop up to first later, and it was over. All the years, all the trips, all the smiles and laughter, all the slick defensive plays, all the hits, all the stolen bases. Wow, I had forgotten about the stolen bases till just now. All the pride, all the hanging on the bench and dugouts with the guys, all the early mornings, all the hotels, all the highs of the late inning comebacks and all the lows of the 12-0 beatings, all the drills, all the endless and countless memories....all over. I can't lie and say I didn't have to fight back a tear or two. Sorry, I'm just not that tough of a guy. He came off the field and there were no group pics, no emotional good-byes. I walked him to the parking lot, and after throwing his stuff in the back for the last time, I asked him one last time, if he was confident in his decision. He looked at me and his eyes said it all. He was done and at peace. I hugged him, told him how proud of him I was and that I loved him. And with that, it was over. The game moves on. The boys of summer will be there again, each and every summer, a new wave of boys and young men take to the fields and replace those ghosts that I still see as I drive around town. Just a bit surreal that next year, Noah wont be one of them.