Charlie’s baseball team lost their playoff game on Friday night in an extra-inning nail-biter.
It’s the end of another baseball season, and an enormously successful one, too.
Charlie once played on a team that failed to win a single game all season. It was actually a tremendous learning experience for him.
He’s also played in (and lost) two championship games.
Last night, he lost in the first round of the playoffs, but his team went 8-1 in the regular season and performed brilliantly.
Charlie didn’t get to play catcher very much this season like he did in the spring, but his fielding improved, his hitting improved, and the team’s overall spirit was tremendous. It was the most efficiently coached, enthusiastic group of boys I have seen on a baseball diamond in my many years as the father of a ballplayer.
Thanks to incredible coaches, supportive parents, and clear expectations, it was a season I will remember for a long time.
I just wish we had more baseball to play.
But during the team’s final run around the field—a tradition after every game—Charlie and a teammate were bemoaning the opposing team’s enthusiastic celebration and the choice of music played after the winning run crossed the plate.
The opposing team was admittedly celebratory, but after an extra-inning game like this, it’s understandable. But in the minds of boys who just played their guts out and lost, it was tough to swallow.
Then, in the middle of this conversation, one of Charlie’s teammates ran past him and said something unkind. It was small, mean-spirited, and a little cruel, and given Charlie’s emotional state, it hit him hard.
It was a terrible thing to say to a teammate at any time, but at that moment, as the team was together for one last time after a heartbreaking loss, it was especially awful.
A terrible thing to do.
It would’ve upset most kids, I suspect.
It’s so hard to be a parent in these situations. So many things run through your mind.
First…
How dare you end my son’s baseball season on an act of unkindness and stupidity, you little monster. What the hell is wrong with you? Who stabs a teammate with a cowardly verbal knife at a moment like that?
Then…
Where is the boy? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I will make him feel just as terrible as he made my son feel. Or worse. I’m going to make him cry. And I’m incredibly good at doing so. It’s my superpower.
Then…
I always tell my students not to judge someone based upon their worst moment.
Then…
He’s only a boy, perfectly capable of acts of stupidity and cruelty because he still has a lot of growing up to do. I’m always telling people—including my kids—to afford others the opportunity to become better versions of themselves someday. This boy deserves this opportunity, too. He’s probably not a bad kid—just a kid who made a rotten decision at a terrible moment.
As a teacher, I see this from the best of kids every day.
Give the kid a break. He’s heartbroken, too.
Still, a small part of me wanted to hunt him down.
While driving home, I told Charlie that losing a baseball game is hard. Losing a playoff game is excruciating. Ending your baseball season on an extra-inning playoff loss is heartbreaking.
But I told him that in the grand scheme of things, the baseball game is small compared with the real test that night.
I told Charlie he had an opportunity to compete, support his teammates, try like hell, act with great sportsmanship, keep his head high, and be a good and decent person amid battle.
I told him:
You lost the baseball game but won the more important contest tonight, and sadly, your teammate did not.
That boy may play baseball better than you, but you’re a better baseball player than he will ever be because hitting and fielding aren’t nearly as important as those other things. Hitting and fielding will never be as important as being a good teammate.
“You won the bigger game tonight,” I told him. “Your teammate lost.”
I meant it, too.
I hope Charlie believed it because the end of the baseball season sucks— for both players and parents.
