Strength of Character

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in moments of challenge and controversy.  ~  Martin Luther King, Jr

I wonder if MLK Jr was job hunting when he said this?

Nothing will shake someone more than a prolonged job hunt. You begin with spirits high, resume in hand, and with the world (not) waiting for you to come calling. You send out a few résumés... crickets. No big deal, you think, I'm only just starting out, something will happen. You do your due diligence and keep plugging away, reworking your résumé a little, rewriting your cover letter. And then a call. And then another. Off to the interview you go. It's short and sweet so you figure it went well. You sit by your phone checking it every 9 seconds like you were checking it after a first date, but no calls and no emails. You try to shrug it off, but self doubt starts to creep in. You're confidence begins to waiver just a little. I should have done this differently. I should have said this and not that.

Shaken just a little, you move on. But you begin to wonder if that was your window of opportunity and it just closed on your fingers. Nonetheless you don't give up. You can't.

Radio silence.

The time between calls gets longer. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. You are buoyed, if only slightly, by the odd call back but when the result is much the same as it was before the self doubt is much the same as it was before - only worse. The walks home get a little longer and a little lonelier. Now it's stressful. You're awake at night and it's with you everywhere you go. You walk by someone walking home from work and you just want to be them. You want to walk with the same purpose they do. Maybe if you walk faster you'll be able to get out from underneath this cloud that is hanging over you. This has to end somewhere, sometime, doesn't it?

 If the ultimate measure is where a man stands in moments of challenge, then stand in the unemployment line.

Starting Over

It's a curious situation being an adult intern. Like a big kid at the little kids rodeo. Like the 12 year old playing the board game for 4-6 yr olds. He's played this game before but is hardly a master at it. Sure he will get things wrong, but life experience has taught him a few things along the way. Girls aren't icky anymore. Kraft Dinner is now a dinner for two. And life keeps on moving even if sometimes you just wish it would slow down and let you catch up for a second. Or at the very least take a few of those years back.

Your Life's Footprint

The greatest legacy is that which benefits the widest number of people for the longest period without limit to value.  Cat Stevens

Baseball lost a great man today. Gary Carter succumbed to brain cancer at the age of 57. Best remembered for his contributions to the 1986 New York Mets and their World Series championship, he was a leader. But that is not why I write today. I write not to eulogize him. Instead I write because I am thinking of the legacy of life and the footprint we leave during our time on this terra firma.

Gary Carter had no impact on my life. However there are those that he did impact - friends, family, and teammates alike.

It can be quite humbling to think of one's impact on the world. Who will remember you when you are gone? What will they say? Some will have more influence on other people's lives than others, but no one leaves this world without making some sort of impact. To be a leader is to not only get people to follow you, but to understand the impact you have. You may not be aware of it, but it is happening. And this impact can last long after your respective lives have charted different courses. And this was the impact of Gary Carter. He was a man who did not participate in the wild living of his teammates, but instead walked the straight and narrow. It was years after that many of his teammates realized he was a man ahead of his time. They looked back fondly on the time they spent with him and realized the impact he had on their lives.

Three years ago I was blessed with the opportunity to begin coaching baseball. It was, in fact, my main motivation for beginning this blog. I've documented what I've learned a long the way and some of the experiences I've had. I've had the chance to teach and learn all at once. It can be somewhat humbling knowing that years down the road something I said or did may be remembered by one of the kids. I have no way of knowing if it will positively impact their lives the way Gary Carter did with the people he shared his life with, but I can only hope.

I Am Baseball

Post Race Wrap Up

A little over a month ago, I did something that 2 months before that seemed like a good idea. I did two half marathons within a few weeks of each other. And as has been the story with my last few runs, I struggled with my motivation to properly prepare for them. From bowing out of one race, to doing just enough for others, my last few races have been just OK. I'm by know means a world beater at these things, but I know where I can finish and my last few haven't been there.

May 15th I returned to where I made my first foray into the sport two years ago, the Mississauga Marathon.  Was I happy with my finish? Yes. But again, it wasn't quite where I know I can be. I crossed the finish line in 2:12 which was right about where I figured I would.

Two weeks later on May 29th I ran in Ottawa. This was fun. My finishing time at 2:21 I wasn't overly happy with, but the whole experience of Ottawa Race Weekend was amazing. It is an event the whole city embraces. Road closures weren't bemoaned like they tend to be in races around the GTA. The whole city gets behind it. At no point during the race is it just the thousands of runners plodding along. There are people everywhere. I think the only one who didn't get behind it was Mother Nature. It rained - constantly. But the rain did little to dampen the spirits of those that participated. I will most definitely be back to do this race.
And next time my showing will be better.

I'm not quite sure where my motivation has gone for running this past little while. Yes, it's punishing, but that's not what has drained me. I've heard it said that when you do a full marathon you must respect the distance. Train appropriately and don't take it lightly. And I wonder if that's my problem. My fear of running 22.1 km is gone. Prior to my first  few races I was afraid. I didn't sleep well. I feared going out too fast and burning out. I worried about missing one training run. The (ahem) run-up to the race consumed me. Now, not so much. I run. I finish. And what happens in between doesn't really phase me, but for when I look up to see the time I cross the line.

This isn't uncommon for this sport so I hear. People go through lulls and struggle with their motivation. My lull just seems to be elongated. The ever quotable Yogi Berra once said (of baseball) that, "Baseball is 90% mental, the other half is physical." And so it is with running. It is both mental and physical. Now I just need to employ more of my 90%.

tryout day

"There are three things you can do in a baseball game. You can win, you can lose, or it can rain."       Casey Stengel

I find Casey Stengel's quote funny. Funny because it's not that it can rain on the day of tryouts, it's that it will rain. Anyone who has ever been around little league baseball knows this. You might be soaking up the early spring sun in the days leading up to it, but come that fateful day soaking is all you will be doing. And this year was no different. Sun. Then rain. Lots of it.

I can remember many such tryouts as a kid. There I sat shivering in the cold, barely able to feel the ball, and begging for this hour to be over.  And now that I'm a little older I can assure this mindset does not change - for parents, kids, or coaches. The difference being I now have a coffee in hand to provide me brief moments of comfort.

Such is spring in Canada. Short, cold days of baseball tryouts and long nerve racking nights of watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

                                                                                     

Runners Low

To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

I'm not sure if Sir Isaac Newton was a runner, so I have my doubts that this law of motion has anything to do with the sport. However, I think he may have been on to something. His wisdom goes beyond just the world science and other things I don't understand.

I have been running for a relatively short time, maybe two years. In that time I have experienced the highs, the lows, and the in-betweens of the sport. I have struggled to make what is often the most difficult step for a runner, that first step out the door. I have run until the point where everything hurts and both succumbed to it and overcome it. And then, of course, there is that elusive runner's high.

Now, some will argue that runner's high is nothing more than a state of mind. Others attest to it being an actual physiological response. I say both. The physiological response for me comes when I cross the finish line. That, of course, fades and the comedy/pain of trying to put one foot in front of the other begins. Those who have been to the finish line of a race have borne witness to this.

Then there is the mental runner's high. Emphasis on mental because what I attempt to do in the days following a race are just that - mental. Buoyed by my accomplishment I will (sometimes) get back to pounding the pavement much to soon and my body and my mind are worlds apart. In my mind's eye I am an olympian, but my body is telling me I'm nothing more than a weekend warrior.

Until recently this was, in a nutshell, all that I had experienced in running. I can now add a new experience to that list - runner's low. The Newtonian definition of it might read something like this, "when you sign up for a race and don't do it because you got lazy and go to the finish line only to regret not doing it because you see everyone so happy and you wish you were one of them." That summarizes my Around The Bay 2011 experience. I signed up and didn't do it. And after seeing everyone crossing the finish line that will also be the only time I ever do something like that again. Strangely, I wanted to be one of the fraternity struggling to walk after running for 3 hrs. But I wasn't. I was on the outside looking in. And it wasn't a very picturesque view for me.

On that day, for me, there was an action and equal and opposite reaction. A runner's high which I didn't experience and a runner's low which I did.

Leading. Learning along the way.

The 2011 season baseball season is upon us. Kind of. This Thursday marked our first winter workouts. The faces were different. The team, as yet, undefined. Nonetheless it was good to be back at it.

This also begins my third year with Ancaster Little League, second as a coach with the Major rep team. I think back to a few years ago when I decided to join the coaching ranks. I was new to the area and knew I wanted to get involved, but not really certain where. Going just by memory of my little league days I sent out emails to teams in the area. Some responded, others didn't. Somewhat blindly, I chose Ancaster. If only all the decisions I've made in my life could have turned out so well as this one!

In my time with the league I have been blessed to be around some great people - coaches, parents, and kids alike. I've learned from them and hopefully they've been able to take something from me.

Coaching is a definitely growing passion of mine. Years ago, all I wanted to do was play the game. That desire has faded - somewhat. While it's nice to step between the white lines every so often, the reward I get in coaching far surpasses that of any inning I may pitch. I learn as they learn and therein lies the great reward of it all. While they are learning and bettering themselves as players I'm doing much the same in my role as a leader.

Being a leader of these kids is not a responsibility I take lightly. I have more memories of my coaches than I do my teachers at that age I think. (my teachers just have nightmares of me). It's humbling to think that years down the road some of these kids will remember me and our time together whether it was something I said or something I did. But that, I suppose, is the weighty responsibility of leadership. I am always being watched. I may not always do or say the right thing, but I'm learning.

biding my time

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.

                                                      A. Bartlett Giamatti ~ The Green Fields of The Mind

With the dust settled on the 2010 baseball season I have struggled to add purpose and meaning to my life. Much like banging your head against a wall, it hurts not to have baseball around. All this talk of free agents, arbitration, and winter meetings is doing little for me. All talk. No action. It is not disguising the fact that there are still over 3 months until it begins all over again. Alas, life goes on. Or so I'm told. I must do something to  bide my time. Give me a moment to think about this...

OK. My thinking grenades are used up. This off-season I could:

1. Grow A Mo. 
In the spirit of MOvember I could grow a moustache. Like this man, Rollie Fingers.
Ya, no. While I am all for supporting charitable causes, my stache would indeed be trash.

 2. Learn to do The Dougie
Ya, still no.



3. Run. 
OK, getting warmer. I like to do this. It hurts, but I like it. We might be on to something.

4. Eat food. 
Warmer still. I like to do this. A. Lot.




5. Come up with my own cologne. 
It worked for Gustavo Chacin.

6. Blog more. 


7. Pen a Sonnet. HUH?!


Only 7 things to do over the next 3 months. It's going to be a long off-season.






  

World Series Pumpkins

This is something I started a few years ago - Carving pumpkins of the teams that are in the World Series for Halloween.
Here is the collection to date...

 2011
St Louis Cardinals vs Texas Rangers











2010 World Series
San Francisco Giants vs Texas Rangers

2009 World Series
New York Yankees vs Philadelphia Phillies

2008 World Series
Tampa Bay Rays vs Philadelphia Phillies

2007 World Series
Boston Red Sox vs Colorado Rockies

2006 World Series
St Louis Cardinals

iRun

This time of year marks an anniversary of sorts for me. It was about two years ago that I became a runner. It was not so much out of a yearning desire to push my body to the point that everything hurts but more a matter of not wanting to have to shop at Northern Reflections.

My progression towards XL Nate was slow and gradual as most can attest to. The weight gain creeps up on you. Sure their were spurts of consistency at the gym, but they were too often offset by greater periods of consistency on the couch. Couple that with a lack of proper rehab from surgeries to both my elbow and shoulder and the number on the scale read more like my career batting average (also bad). It was the fall of 2008 that I had booked surgery #3 for my shoulder and knew that if things progressed I was soon going to be making calls to Prince Fielder's tailor. Something had to be done.

 With surgery I've come to learn, it's not so much the procedure itself, but your dedication to the rehabilitation afterwards that dictates the effectiveness of it. I knew there would be months afterward where physical activity would be reduced to a minimum while I healed. In order to prep for this, my plan of attack became getting myself in the best shape possible whereby I could afford to eat bonbons on the couch. I had roughly 8 months to do it in. So, I signed up for the Mississauga Half Marathon. Daunting? Yes. Impossible for me in my then present shape? Somewhat.

At first it was a goal I kept to myself. However, being a reasonably self-aware person I knew that if it remained a private thing I'd return back down the mountain I'd set out to climb. So, I started telling friends and family, one by one. Accountability. It was then that this goal became that much more tangible. It's much easier to let yourself down than it is those around you.

Eight months later race day had finally come. The hours in the gym, kilometres on the road, and forgoing of Baconators had paid off. I had lost 40lbs in the process. I was ready, yet nervous. I don't remember sleeping much the night before. Maybe 2 hours at the most. If memory serves, it was around the 14km mark that the running became more mental than it did physical. Physical preparation is one thing. Mental prep is a whole different ball of wax. Without ever having done a race of this length before I didn't know how to mentally prepare for it beyond saying "I think I can, I think  can, I think can." My legs started to feel heavy and I could feel some of my toes going numb. I was buoyed by reminding myself that with each plodding step the distance I had run grew greater while the distance I had yet to go shrank. And roughly 2 hours later it was all over. I crossed the finish line in almost exactly the time I figured I would. I was happy.

  To think of myself as a runner is still weird. Being asked for advice about it even more weird. I come from a baseball backround. Baseball players run in 90 ft bursts. I try to help out others where I can with the disclaimer that I am by no means fleet afoot. In fact, there are very few things in this life that I do at a high rate of speed. Nonetheless, running will always be a part of who I am now. Certainly not to the degree that baseball is, but still a part.

come to my window

Some months ago when I started this blogging experience I wasn't totally sure what I was getting into. I saw it more as a diary of the team I coached this past summer with tidbits of my personal experiences in baseball intertwined. The stories came easily because there was so much we did together and accomplished as a team. But alas, that chapter of our lives is now complete. I knew it would be limited in scope, but didn't care - these boys had a story that deserved to be told. I wanted it to not only be readable but relatable. I wanted you, the reader, to in some way, feel like you were a part of the team.

As best I could I wanted to stay away from reporting on events within the broader game of baseball if they had no connection to me. This is your window into my life. You might be saying though, that the blinds on said window seem only half rolled up because when you look through it all you see is a room full of baseballs. There has to be more to me. I can assure you that I do have other interests. I like stuff and I do things.

Soon enough, this window will become a frosty pane of glass with the coming winter months. Other than longing for the beginning of spring training the stories of me and baseball will be largely dried up. Frozen over if you will. Where I go from here I'm not too sure (I've come full circle). Baseball will always be a part of my life, that is for certain. It has been said that there is always a story you just have to look for it. While that may be true, I'm not looking for just a story. I'm looking for a story about me to you.

The Bullpen Gospels

I'd wondered all year how the power of baseball should be wielded. And now I knew. Baseball doesn't have any intrinsic power. It only has what people give to it. For some the man who plays is a superhero, and he can do great things. For some, the man who plays is an obstacle who must get out of the way. Is baseball as important as food, knowledge, care, or a dry pair of boots? Is it as important as some of the things that pass us by in everyday life? I don't think so. Can it inspire, motivate, and call us to do something greater than ourselves? Absolutely. The burden of the player isn't to achieve greatness, but to give the feeling of it to everyone he encounters. It was wrong of me even to try to separate life and the game. They were intertwined, meant to be, one affecting the other, one teaching the other, even when the mixture occasionally blows up.

*an excerpt from the book

The Bullpen Gospels

Dirk Hayhurst

a new Motley Crue

Out with the old and in with the new. And in the case of the 2011 Ancaster Cardinals it will be lots of new. With only two returning players we will be a different team with a different identity. Wednesday night was our second workout of hopefuls for next year.

Sitting there watching the kids play in an intrasquad game, I was reminded of last year when we began this exact same process in very similar weather conditions (re: COLD). We alternated between trying to keep warm and biting our nails wondering how things would evolve for the (then) coming Canadian Championships. Needless to say that version of the Cardinals did their coaches, their parents, and their community proud with a berth in the finals.

Last week, for a brief moment, I was taken back to that week in August when one of the boys hit a homerun in practice. I've said before that nothing tops the experience of a homerun in Little League. Of course there wasn't the people on the surrounding hill applauding or the crowd of teammates waiting for him at home plate, but it was still drew "oohs," "aahs," and smiles all around. That is what separates Little League baseball from all other levels of baseball - the way every achievement is lauded by onlookers.

What 2011 holds remains to be seen, but I'm confident that next summer will be filled with its own collection of unforgettable moments just as this summer was.

if these walls could talk

Ghost stories - everyone seems to have one, be they induced by mind expanding hallucinogens or a real life encounter.  Whatever the case may be I apparently am in the minority here. I have never caused my neurotransmitters to fire at such a rate that I see a herd of angry elephants charging toward me in my sleep. Nor have I had an encounter with the unexplained. What I can tell you about, though, is the feeling I get when I see this image (inset). You might be surprised to learn that this isn't a picture of the SkyDome..errr... Rogers Centre. The atmosphere created by stepping into both parks in their current state might be somewhat similar though. Rogers Mahal is a tribute to the way were in the 80's when bigger was a better. Essentially it is a monument to excess where now parks are built with the intent of building the very atmosphere that it seems to lack.

When I see this image of this diamond I think if these outfield walls could talk, oh the stories they would tell. I've wondered the very same thing when I've visited other parks around the league. I've stood and thought about who played their before or who walked the dugout tunnels. But I rarely do that when I enter the Rogers Centre. Obviously it does have its history, I'm not trying to discredit that. It has played host to some truly memorable baseball moments. And football moments. And soccer moments. And wrestling moments. And musical moments. And car moments. I think you understand what I'm getting at. It is a venue at best and a tourist attraction, not a baseball stadium in the ilk of Wrigley Field or Fenway Park.


image courtesy of:
www.baseballpilgramages.com

my summer vacation

All of us can remember this essay at some point in our scholastic careers - How I Spent My Summer Vacation. And by now you've got a good handle on how I spent my summer vacation.

With kids begrudgingly back into the routine of school the thought occurred to me the other day why don't they ever ask you how you spent any other season? My default argument is that it's because baseball doesn't really happen during any other season. I will also argue that the Canadian summer is a unique experience. We see it coming with the first spring thaw and begin the countdown at March Break. Others hedge their hopes of a shortened winter on a chubby weather prognosticating rodent, Wiarton Willie.  Summer for us doesn't begin in June. It begins with the first 3 consecutive days above 10C. Regardless of when it happens. And if that happens to be in April? Giggity. It just became patio season. Spring does not exist in Canada. It is a fictional season brought to you by The GAP. Buy our clothes! Wear them for two weeks! Now pack them into the far reaches of your closet!

For two, maybe three months, or however long Mother Nature sees fit, we are afforded some time to ditch the toques and watch... ummm... baseball?? Then just as quickly as it comes, it goes. We then retreat to our igloos to sip double-doubles and watch Ron and Don wax political about the European invasion. On that note I give you this, one more time, because it is still oh so good...

 


Anyway, where was I? Oh yes - My summer solstice. Think for a second. Save for Christmas no one ever asked you how any other season went. Did you ever have to pen an essay entitled How I Spent My Fall Thinking Maybe This Would Be The Maple Leafs Year? Or its sister piece from the spring Well There's Always Next Year. Summer is different. And unfortunately, it is also now over.

thank you

All good things must come to an end. Why does it have to be this way? Whoever came up with this idiom must have been a glass-half-empty type. Sunday was the end of our season. In the end we fell one victory short of our ultimate goal, but the collective feeling is that the memories we will carry with us from the summer of 2010 far outweigh that one loss. As was said by a parent, if we could rewind the clock back to April I'm sure we all would. We were a family - parents, players, and coaches alike. So to all of this family I would like to say thank you.

Thank you to:

Brandon Chong - For making me believe that it is possible for a 12 yr old to chop down a tree with one swing of a bat.

Liam Gallagher - Thanks for striking out and letting the pink hat die with you. (for those not in the know, anytime some struck out looking they had to wear a pink hat for the next practice and during warmups for the next game. pictured is Matthew Grabstas). And thanks for all the seeds you're going to supply me with next year.

Caleb Radley - For this look...enough said. You owe me seeds too - the kind humans eat. Not like the 7lbs of birdseed I left in your bag.

Anthony Marzenek - For breaking the hearts of the Turtle Club. Seeds too please, next year. Thief!

Justin Stephenson -  For some of the hardest hit balls I have ever seen come off a bat. Parents of opposing players thank you to that none of their sons were hit by these missiles.

Ben Miller - For being a leader in your own quiet way. All of us were at ease when you came to the plate because we knew you would make something happen. And for reminding all our pitchers not to suck.

Simon Ranger - You are a future coach in the making. I have thought that since I first had you on my team two years ago.

Mark Szostak - For offering hugs. No I don't need one, but thank you.

Riley Gray - Fellow lefty. For being our vocal leader in the dugout and on the field. You hit what may have been our longest homerun of the season but for a silly wire. As it is, you hit the weirdest triple ever.

Adam Del Frabbro - For dashing the hopes of anyone who hit the ball to the right side of the infield. You were where basehits went to die.

Matthew Grabstas - Tide Laundry Detergent thanks you for keeping them in business.

Justin Mignardi - For reminding me that you hit more homeruns than me in Little League and that without you I haven't won any district championships or made it to any national finals.

the coaching staff - For the friendships we forged along the way. The stories we shared. And the lessons I learned in coaching, teaching, and parenting I took from this summer.

the parents - For welcoming an ex-Erindale player into your midst. And entrusting your boys to me and us coaches for the summer. They (and you) made me look forward to every practice, game, and party. I was blessed to be around such fine young men for one summer.

I truly was blessed this summer. Thank you to one and all.

9/11 - how baseball helped heal a city

In the wake of the 9th anniversary of 9/11 I was reminded of the events and how they affected the baseball world. For 6 days play was suspended. Baseball was a distraction. And this was not a time to be distracted. When your heart is broken, try as you might to avoid it, nothing can distract you from the hurt. Regardless of where home was for us, on this day we were all Americans.

Baseball returned to play on September 17, 2001 but it wasn't until September 21st that baseball returned to New York with a game between the New York Mets and Atlanta Braves. (click on the link for a video tribute to that game) It was time for baseball to be a distraction again. It was time to begin the healing process and take a wounded nation away from the heartbreak, if but for a moment. What transpired was a game that will go down as a classic, if not stirring moment in the storied history of the game.

I'm not sure that any amount of writing I do can properly pay respect to the lives lost on that tragic day. What I can do though is tell you that how I will forever be moved by the sound of Ronan Tynan's rendition of God Bless America at Yankee Stadium. Let us all be grateful...

the baseball gods

Whatever god you kneel before at night is understandably your business, be it the sun, Jobu, Superman, or Ganesh. Religion is a personal matter - I get it. And baseball is not without its deities. In baseball it is an undeniable fact that there is a higher power at work. Hardly ever are things attributed to chance or coincidence in this game. There is a deep reverence for these mysterious beings that look down on baseball diamonds from above.  To not acknowledge these beings is to bring upon oneself great misfortune in the form of seemingly incurable hitting slumps, befuddling fielding errors, and the inability to hit a curveball.

Pedro Cerrano, in the classic movie Major League, was fully aware of his fallibility as a human playing a divine game and prayed to Jobu to "come take fear from bats." Baseball players are a quirky bunch. They will do things like avoid stepping on the white lines, eat the same pregame meal if things are going well, or draw a cross in the dirt - the highest form of reverence to the baseball gods. And next time you see a pitcher sitting alone in the dugout in the late innings of a game it's because its believed talking to him will jinx him if he is in the middle of a no-hitter. Also, please do your part and do not under any circumstances say the phrase no-hitter. That is blasphemy of the highest order towards the baseball gods. They are listening. And they will punish said pitcher and end his attempt at perfection with an unwanted base hit.

Need further proof that the baseball gods do indeed exist? This past weekend I took in a Blue Jay game. In the later innings of the game some inebriated frat boys that sat near me took to the time honoured tradition of heckling the opposing team. Fine. All in good fun. That was until their remarks began to border on offensive. Not even the baseball gods could let this slide. For two innings they heckled and jeered and for two innings EVERY TIME they said something a Blue Jay batter made an out, but for one batter. I noticed the hand of the baseball gods at work. Clearly they didn't. And that one time they were presumably tonsils deep in their alcohol and unable to utter more nonsense, what happened you ask?! A homerun.
Baseball Gods 1, Dingalings 0.

The baseball gods are omni-present. Just remember that.

the setting sun

Tuesday marked our first game since the Canadian Championships. It was different. Quieter. There wasn't the player introductions, the national anthem, Don Cherry, or the thousands of people on the surrounding hill there to support us. With no disrespect to our opponents intended, it was hard to get up for this game for players and coaches alike. It came. It went. We won.

If anything, this game marked the beginning of the end. Imagine you are at your cottage, sitting on the dock on the last day of summer vacation. Tired, you sit there and stare out over a relatively calm lake but for the water that gently breaks against the dock beside you. You reminisce. The light on your summer is slowly fading with the setting sun as it dips below the horizon. That's what Tuesday night was like.

We have but a handful of games left in what has been a truly memorable season and in a weeks time it will all be over. We will all go our separate ways for the coming winter months. But regardless of where life takes us parents, coaches, and players alike will all be bonded by the memories of the summer of 2010.

record to date: 32W, 7L, 1T