No Crying in Softball
To every thing there is a season,
and a time for every purpose under the heaven.
--
Ecclesiastes 3:1
We were warned
about softball. Our friends told us about a dog-pilin', hair-pullin' fistfight
after a game that spilled over into the parking lot. Not players - parents! Our
friends backed away, pretending to throw punches. They didn't want to fight,
but didn't want their fellow parents to see them not fighting.
Whoa! What were we
getting ourselves into?
When our daughter
was 13, her team made it to Nationals. They missed a game because of a
scheduling snafu that was not their fault. The forfeit knocked them out of the
tournament. What a way to end their season! The girls huddled outside the
tournament office, a few of them crying.
A big, burly woman
came along. Frowning, she lectured, "There's no crying in softball!"
One of our mothers
said testily, "You don't understand the situation. They have good reason to
cry."
The stranger put
her hairy-knuckled hands on our mother's shoulders, and SHOVED her to the
ground.
Yikes! What HAD we gotten ourselves into?
Just a wonderful
slice of life rich with lessons, and sweet with friendship, courage, sacrifice
and character. The other night, our softball experience culminated in the
second straight state championship for Eden's high-school team, the Elkhorn
Antlers.
The girls were
jumping and whooping, beaming so brightly we didn't need the balllfield lights.
I looked around at the parents, and saw plenty of glittering tears.
There's no crying
in softball, huh?
We've watched more
than 500 games over the years, coming to love Eden's teammates and their
families, sharing their joys and sorrows in and out of softball. Though Eden
hopes to play in college, we'll never have this close community again. It's
precious, and addictive. A whole bunch of former players and their parents came
to the championship game, to relive it.
Afterwards, we
took over a popular restaurant. We ate and drank, watched reruns of key plays
on a laptop, and jumped on chairs singing and shouting, including my silly
signature cheer:
"ELKHORN NUMBER
ONE!
"CAN'T BE NUMBER
TWO!
"COME ON,
EVERYBODY,
"DO THE ELKHORN
BOOG-A-LOO!
"AH-BOOG-A-LOOOOOO!!!!!!"
There were quiet
moments celebrating a different kind of victory, too. The championship game was
against the team from Beatrice, Neb., a perpetual softball power. Their pitcher
is Tara Oltman, an All-State ace. We beat them twice to take the title this
year, just like last year. Last year, Eden didn't know their pitcher when she
boomed the winning hit to the fence. This year, Tara's a dear friend, because
the two of them spent the summer together on a traveling team.
After the game,
they hugged and cried. Eden surprised Tara with a DVD she made commemorating
their summer season. Tara gave Eden a picture of the two of them after their
last game, with their arms around each other, smiling through their tears. It
was framed in a silver ball glove. Both girls brought gifts for their
friend-foes. In my book, they both were champs. What a life lesson.
Next morning, I
started to wash Eden's uniform for the last time. The outfielder's grass stains
and ballfield dirt from sliding would come out. But the good things gained from
softball are in Eden's heart forever:
How discipline,
training and practice pay off, bigtime.
How to overcome
adversity, be aggressive, play fair, accept defeat with grace, and be a loyal
teammate.
How to use your
sense of humor as a leadership tool.
Lessons well
learned. And now it's time to move on. The season's over, in more ways than
one.
So I scrubbed
those uniform stains for the last time, musing and smiling over all the memories.
Spittin' seeds! Rhubarbs over bad calls! The look on a coach's face when a girl
who was slumping follows his advice for her next at-bat, and gets the
game-winning RBI at State. . . .
My heart flooded
with emotion. That happened to Eden. Peak experience.
That's God: using
lowly things like softball so that, if you let Him coach you, you can get game
. . . and make big plays when it counts.
As I stood there
and scrubbed her uniform, tears filled my eyes and plopped down onto the
fabric.
Anyone who says
there's no crying in softball: YERRRRR OUT!!! †
