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

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.

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

living a memory

Throughout history there are moments in time when people ask "where were you when..." and you can recall most everything about that time.There have been but a handful of such moments in my lifetime. Sadly, many of these moments are those of great human tragedy. My participation in the Canadian Little League Championships last week, while not tragic, was one such unforgettable moment.

Well aware of the fact that I may never be back to this tournament again, I did my best to take it all in - the sights, the sounds, and the smells. It is an experience I cannot begin to possibly describe in a few short paragraphs. I was there in every way possible as a coach, as a fan, and as a little kid trapped in a much older body. From the opening day parade to the thousands that turned out to watch the Championship Game, it was something I had never before been a part of. I was awed by the entire experience.

There were moments in every game where I looked out from my perch beside the dugout and the only thing I could think was "how cool is this?!" Take, for instance, a home run. Nothing trumps the jubilation of home run in a little league game. There is no "business as usual" look on the kid's faces as they circle the bases like we have grown accustomed to in professional baseball. The smile is always ear to ear. And often times the mob of teammates that await them at home plate are even happier.

Each day brought with it new memories. There were nervous parents who couldn't watch as their son calmly went about their business, kids asking other kids for autographs, and friendships forged that will last well beyond this one week. There were moments of sportsmanship that left us smiling. I think of one particular boy from the Quebec team, who became a folk hero of sorts as the tournament wore on. He cheered and chatted whether his team was behind or ahead. If they gave out awards for Most Inspirational, Isaac Harris would have been a unanimous decision.

Little League baseball is an event like no other. I truly feel fortunate to have been part of this event - a "where were you when" moment in my life.

baseball dads

Baseball dads - everyone who has ever played has them. The one's who bought your first glove, bat, and ball. The one's who played catch with you on a Saturday. And the one's who coached you, not necessarily because they were experts on the game, but because they just wanted to be there. Whatever the case may be, they all deserve a big thank you.

I can recall my dad throwing a plastic ball to me while I did my best in my uncoordinated kindergarten days to hit it with a plastic bat. Or the 5am wake up calls in high school to go take batting practice before school started. And the years he spent coaching me.

Most major moments in my life can in some way, shape or form, be traced back to baseball. Birthdays were always spent at a Blue Jay game. I'm sure bar mitzvahs would have been to if I was Jewish. I can probably tell you what I was doing every time the Blue Jays won anything of significance. And the one common thread through all of them has been my dad. He was there for all of them.

So, thank you dad. Thanks for the bat, the ball, the glove, and the memories.

baseball is love

The other sports are just sports. Baseball is a love.

Those that know me know that there are very few things in this life that I do at a high rate of speed. Some years ago there was a hurricane named Hurricane Nate to which a friend replied, "Don't you mean Glacier Nate?" Touche.

Baseball, of course, is not a game of speed. It is a game of nuances and the unseen. To sit and simply watch is to miss the point. It is a game to be absorbed and appreciated under the glare of the summer sun. Kids play it and adults who still wish they were kids play it.

Growing up, I can remember pouring over the stats in the Saturday paper until I had most of them memorized. And Sundays were for popcorn and scoring the Blue Jay game on TV. These days I drive by parks at night and see them lit up and, like a moth to a flame, I rubberneck. Baseball stadiums are my Disney World.

I have been to the cathedrals of the sport - Cooperstown, Wrigley Field, Yankee Stadium, and Fenway Park - and didn't care if I ever came back. I walk out of the tunnel to my seat be it right next to the action or off in the far reaches of the park and stand in awe. Field of Dreams, my favourite movie, so eloquently represents this. Undeterred by all those around him who suggest he is certifiably nuts, Kevin Costner watches a cornfield full of his heroes play a game no one else sees. And that's what keeps me coming back for more. Whether it's a professional who makes you say, "how'd they do that?" or the Little Leaguer standing on first who just drove in the winning run and you're smiling right along with them. Each time it's something new.

Everybody has their passions - mine just happens to be a game.