Winning

Winning

“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

-Vince Lombardi

It was a different time. Joey could walk six blocks in three different directions and usually find a pickup game on one of the baseball diamonds that had evolved naturally in empty fields over the years. He didn’t care where he played- infield, outfield, catcher, whatever. He pitched once in a while, though his “stuff” was limited to a pretty respectable straight ball. Position didn’t matter to this thirteen-year-old boy who had pictures of Aaron, Adcock, Matthews, and Spahn plastered all over his bedroom walls. He was happy to be playing the game, whatever his role might be.

Today was special. He would have the glove Grandpa gave him for his birthday. The glove was golden brown and bore the signature of Roy McMillan. He would have preferred an Ernie Banks model, but his clever Grandpa, not adverse to the art of the little white lie, led him to believe McMillan was a better fielder.

Joey slept with the glove the night before, with a baseball tucked inside to form a better pocket. The new glove was about all a kid could want on a warm sunny day. It would serve its purpose, looked cool enough to impress Clark and Ben, and most of all, it was a gift from Grandpa.

As special as the glove was to Joey, it was still a runner-up to his most prized possession, the Louisville Slugger bat Grandpa gave him at Christmas. Glove in hand and Ol’ Betsy, the name tag lovingly affixed to the bat by Grandpa in honor of his late wife, known for her harsh ways, slung over his shoulder, Joey headed east toward the vacant lot behind the city’s library.

----------

Jackson lived on the other side of town and had never met Joey, but they shared a powerful common bond- their love of the game. Unlike Joey, Jackson was not a utility position player. It was understood that no matter who showed up at the field that day, Jackson would be stationed at the hot corner or studying the strike zone from the mound.

Jackson was a big kid with a strong arm, which made him well-suited for his preferred positions. He was a good hitter, but his calling card was his arm- he could sure throw that ball.

Jackson’s dad got a catcher’s mitt when his son’s fastball began to inflict pain and discomfort to his hand. Their backyard afforded just enough room for them to practice Jackson’s pitching prowess.

“Can we go in now, Dad? It’s getting dark, and it’s starting to rain.”

“Just a few more, Jackson, and then we’ll go in. Hard work pays off, son.”

“Ok…”

----------

Grandpa was Joey’s batting practice pitcher. He never played baseball past grade school, but he loved the game. He also loved Joey which regularly placed the two of them at City Park.

“Swing hard in case you hit it, Joey.”

“Very funny, Grandpa.”

And then the stroke. It debilitated Grandpa and broke both their hearts. Joey’s dad died in a car accident when Joey was just five years old, his Mom worked long hours, and Grandpa became his substitute everything. The sessions at City Park were replaced with the batting cages adjacent to a miniature golf course, with Grandpa instructing from his wheelchair.

“Nice level swings, Joey, firm but not too hard. You need to make contact with the ball before you put it over the fence.”

Joey still had the warm, encouraging voice of Grandpa, but nothing could replace their pitch-and-hit sessions he had enjoyed so much.

---------

The “mound” in the field behind McKinley School was an elongated patch of dirt created years ago by the kids who had come before. The bases were the same- patches of dirt where grass had been worn away by baserunners in blue jeans and Converse tennis shoes.

The two best players to show up at the field served as the team captains. Jackson was a forever captain and usually pitched, which was never a welcome sight for those on the opposing team. The kid could bring it.

“Jackson, it’s probably not good for your arm to pitch so often. Maybe take 3rd today.”

Jackson smiled as he knew the motivation was not his well-being.

“Frankie, you’re going to have to learn to hit a curveball sometime if you want to play in high school.”

“I guess, but when I’m up, remember you’ve got the hots for my sister.”

“Ok, one at bat, a nice slow ball down the pipe, but you better put in a good word for me.”

The power of love…

----------

Joey’s St. Mary’s team was solid mediocre in the Catholic conference. Remarkably, Coach Marks compiled six 50/50 won-loss records in a row.

“It’s not whether we win or lose, boys. It’s about how we play the game and the friends we make.”

That never sits well with boys like Joey. Dedicated sports enthusiasts always want to win the game. Every kid growing up in Wisconsin during the Packers’ glory years understood Lombardi’s mantra.

“Be at the field a half hour before the game tomorrow, our last game of the season. We’re playing St. John’s, so we want to be sharp. I think we’re going to take them this year.”

St. John’s had won the league championship the past three years.

“He’s dreaming, Joey. We’ve got as much chance to win as you getting an A in math. Their pitcher is off the charts.”

“There’s always a chance, Clark. And… just so you know… I got a B on my last math test.”

“Even a blind pig finds a bail of hay once in a while. You must have copied off Susie Parker’s paper.”

Joey laughed and gave Clark a shove.

“Nope, it was for real. My mom tied me to a kitchen chair and worked with me on the chapter every night.”

“Yeah, moms can be mean.”

----------

“Ouch! That one hurt, Jackson. Your fastball is definitely getting faster. I might have to stick some extra padding in this glove. Who do you play tomorrow?”

“St. Mary’s. It should be easy.”

“Nothing’s easy. You never know. That’s why you practice. Are you pitching tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so. Coach will probably go with Ted. He should get his chances, too. I can pitch if he needs me. It would be nice to go undefeated this year.”

“Yeah, going undefeated would be awesome. Coach Barnes is damn lucky to have you for a pitcher.”

---------

“Are you ok, Grandpa? Do you need anything?”

Joey was struggling to come to grips with his grandfather’s condition, broken in a moment, and made all the worse by the occasional sadness in his eyes.

“I’m ok, Joey.”

He wasn’t. Grandpa had been active his whole life, and now the thing he loved most in his waning years, doing anything with Joey, had been ripped away from him.

“Grandpa…”

“Yes, Joey?”

“I miss going to the park with you and hitting baseballs… and going fishing out on our boat… and shooting hoops with you rebounding.”

“I miss it too, Joey, but there’s still a lot we can do.”

A little tear formed in his eye as Joey walked over to his Grandpa and gave him a hug. Grandpa went with a much bigger tear.

----------

“Jackson, what would you think of going to Catholic Memorial for high school?”

‘What? Memorial? What are you talking about, Dad?”

“They’re always one of the top teams in the state. You’d get more recognition there, you know, and maybe land a scholarship.”

“Memorial’s twenty miles away…”

“Fifteen.”

“I wouldn’t know anyone there. All my friends will be at Central. I don’t want to go to Memorial.”

“I think it would do a lot of good for your baseball career. We’ve got time to think about it. I just want what’s best for you.”

Jackson stood silent, stunned by the possibility of going to Memorial and confused by the reference to his “baseball career.”

---------

“Grandpa, are you proud of me?”

“What? What kind of question is that, Joey? Of course, I’m proud of you. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I don’t know. I really haven’t done anything special. I mean, my grades are average, and I’m not very good at baseball or basketball. I’m not special at anything.”

“None of that matters, Joey. Do you know why I’m proud of you?”

“Why?”

“Because, Joey… you are special.”

----------

“Good news, Jackson. I was able to get you into that pitching camp next weekend at Whitewater.”

“What? Dad, that’s the weekend Cal’s dad is taking us up north to their cabin.”

“Well, sometimes you have to put the fun aside and do what’s best for you in the long run. This camp is one of the best in the Midwest.”

“I don’t want to go to some stupid camp. We go fishing and swimming, make a big bonfire…”--

“Jackson, I know what’s best for you. This camp will do you a lot of good. There’s going to be an ex-major league pitcher there. Besides, I already paid for it.”

Jackson’s heart sank so low that he couldn’t speak.

----------

They loaded Grandpa’s wheelchair into the van and left for the game.

“I’ve got a feeling you’re going to have a really great game today, Joey.”

“That’s what you always say, Grandpa.”

“I know, but this time I’m really feelin’ it.”

Joey was feeling it too. He added a little something extra to his bedtime prayers the night before.

“I know I’m not supposed to ask for stuff like this, but our last game of the season is tomorrow, and I’d like to do something special… not so much for me but for my Grandpa. I know that if I made a great catch or had a big hit, that would make him happy. I guess seeing him happy would make me happy too. I just want something good… something special to happen tomorrow… oh, amen.”

The sign of the cross, and Joey hopped into bed, comforted by the feeling that God had been listening.

----------

“Jacson! You won’t believe this.”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“Guess who I ran into in the parking lot.”

“Who?”

“The Catholic Memorial baseball coach. He said he’s heard about you, and he came to the game to see you and Cal play!”

“That’s … great, Dad.”

Tone deaf as a rock, Jackson’s dad didn’t catch the total lack of enthusiasm in his response.

----------

Mediocre but not bad, and blessed by the fact Jackson wasn’t pitching, St. Mary’s was only down 5-2 going into the bottom of the final inning. Joey had a couple of nice fielding plays at 2nd base and reached 1st on a throwing error. Jackson’s dad was beaming as his son drove in all of St. John’s runs, one on a solo blast over the center field fence.

Down by three against the best team in the league- now Coach Marks was feeling it.

“We need baserunners, Ben. Just make contact. Make them earn the out.”

Ben didn’t have to make contact- he drew a walk. Clark hit a sharp grounder to the 2nd baseman, but in his haste to get a double play, his throw missed the mark, and the ball fell harmlessly to the ground. Charlie took one for the team and shook off the pain in his shoulder as he trotted to first. In a matter of moments, St. Mary’s had the bases loaded with no outs.

A visibly irritated Coach Barnes walked briskly to the mound as Jackson’s dad quietly muttered a string of obscenities. All present knew what would happen next. With the game now in jeopardy, Coach Barnes motioned to Jackson to come in and pitch to get the final three outs.

Grandpa would have been jumping up and down if he could have. Whatever one’s philosophy on kids' sports, the taste of a win is irresistible.

Jackson did what he does. He struck out the first two batters he faced, both on just three pitches.

“Way to go, Jackson!”

Some would later say Jackson’s dad’s voice could have been heard in the next county.

It all happened so fast. Joey would be coming to the plate with a chance to keep the game going, even win it with a homer. The pressure had Joey rethinking his prayer to have a chance to do something special.

Time stopped. Joey would later reflect on how he seemed to have time to study the pitcher- a bright red number 9 on his jersey, long shaggy brown hair, and eyes that looked like they meant business.

Jackson studied the kid at the plate- small for the league, a serious dirt kicker as he settled into the batter’s box, and a navy blue number 5 on his jersey. The batter’s look of determination seemed familiar to Jackson- he had seen it in himself.

Joey watched helplessly as Jackson’s first pitch, a sizzling fastball, sailed by, just catching the inside corner of the plate. Strike one.

Grandpa shuffled nervously in his wheelchair as Joey’s mom could only feel for her son. Grandpa thought of the countless pitches he had thrown to Joey. Maybe it would all pay off.

Jackson wound up and delivered a slow, dropping curveball. Joey tried to hold up on his swing, but couldn’t stop it in time. Strike two.

Now it was Grandpa’s turn to pray. He never wanted anything more in his life. He and Joey would remember this moment forever.

“Please, God, let him hit the damn ball.”

Jackson’s dad’s eyes bounced back and forth from his son to the Memorial baseball coach. He was thinking that Jackson’s performance this day could well be the launch pad to a scholarship and perhaps beyond. By this time, everyone in the stands knew the pitcher to be his son, and he was anxious to bask in the glory of his son’s success.

----------

The moment. It would all be over in a few seconds. Joey wanted it so badly, for Grandpa, his team, his coach, and himself. Joey understood the situation. He was a very average batter at best, and his adversary was the best the league had ever seen. It would take a miracle.

Jackson was the picture of confidence. He knew his talent, and he had never even heard of the kid at the plate. One more pitch for that undefeated season. A short windup, and the ball flew out of his hand.

Grandpa thought he could have timed the flight of the ball on the minute hand of his watch. Mom’s heart stopped. Coach Marks closed his eyes. And then a mighty swing with Ol’ Besty, nice and level just like Grandpa taught him, maybe the most powerful swing of Joey’s life… but it missed its mark. Joey cringed at the sound of the ball smacking into the catcher’s mitt. Strike three.

----------

Joey stood motionless at the plate, trying to comprehend the moment. Grandpa felt like his heart had just been ripped out of him. Jackson leaped in the air as his teammates rushed to him to celebrate, while his dad was high-fiving everyone within reach in the stands.

Tears in his eyes, Joey walked over to Grandpa.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I let you down. I let everybody down.”

Joey collapsed into Grandpa’s arms.

“You didn’t let anyone down, Joey. You did your best. Remember, you don’t do this for anyone else. You do this for you.”

----------

Fate does funny things sometimes. As Jackson walked through the parking lot with his dad, he noticed Joey and his Grandpa and saw the tears in Joey’s eyes. Even at the age of thirteen, the picture moved him, and the joy he felt minutes ago drifted off with the summer breeze. Maybe he thought of that look of determination he had seen in Joey’s eyes minutes before, recognized that common bond, and now felt his pain. Maybe there was more to all of this than winning a game. And maybe there was more to Joey’s prayer than he understood.

Neither Joey nor Grandpa saw the boy approach.

“Hey… number 5.”

Joey looked up. This was about the last kid on earth he wanted to see.

“Hey.”

“That was about the best pitch I ever threw. I don’t think anyone could have hit it.”

Joey stared at Number 9 as he struggled to understand why the boy who had just crushed his spirit was there talking to him.

“Yeah… it was… a pretty good pitch. No, it was a great pitch.”

“Thanks. Listen, I just didn’t want you to feel bad about, you know, the way the game ended. There are ups and downs all the time. And it’s really not about winning or losing. It’s about how we play the game…”

Joey felt the compassion, sincerity, and kindness in Jackson’s voice, and he added the rest of the message.

“… and the friends we make.”

It was a very different Jackson than the intimidating force he faced at the plate. Joey felt the bond.

“Number 9, are you going to be at Central this fall?”

Jackson looked back at his dad, who was talking to the Memorial coach, turned back toward Joey, and spoke with the same determination that made him a great pitcher.

“For sure… yes, I’ll be at Central. And I usually go by Jackson and not number 9. Will you be at Central… number 5?”

Joey laughed.

“Yes, I’ll be there. Maybe we can get together sometime when school starts. And I’m Joey.”

“For sure, Joey, for sure.”

A handshake and a bro-hug. It was special.

----------

Grandpa could only wonder what Joey and the kid who struck him out could be talking about. The smile on Joey’s face when he returned was downright puzzling.