The sky threatened rain, and a cold, heavy chill settled over the ballfields — almost as if the weather itself knew what was at stake. We arrived at 3 p.m., nerves tucked under layers of excitement and thick hoodies, ready to warm up for the 4 o’clock game. Wrapped in blankets and huddled in my chair, I watched as the boys moved through their routine — arms loosening with each throw, bats cracking against wiffle balls, shaking off the cold and the nerves one pitch at a time.
As game time approached, I couldn’t help but wonder: would this tournament play out like the last?
Would my son spend most of the game on the bench, saving his arm to pitch during pool play? Or would he get the start at first base, like he used to before the football injury changed everything?
Inning 1: Strikeouts and Strength Score: Us 1, Them 0
Inning 1 was quick and painless. We ended up scoring only 1 run, while keeping the other team scoreless-3 up, 3 down.
Konnor’s position: Benchwarmer
Inning 2: Bats and Bases Score: Us 5, Them 0
This was the inning of the bats! We came, we saw, we conquered.
Konnor’s position: Waterboy
Inning 3: The Bridge to the Bullpen Score: Us 7, Them 0
We maintained our lead, while scoring an extra pair of runs. Looking to close out the game with a W.
Konnor’s position: Warming up in the Bullpen
Inning 4: Bringing in the Heat Score: Us 9, Them 0
Finally, we get a glimpse of the closer jogging out onto the mound. He’s quietly confident, with an air of determination that cuts through the tension. His expression is calm, yet there’s a fire in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what this moment means and is ready to take control.
Konnor’s position: Pitcher
Inning 5: The Closing Sweep Score: Us 9, Them 0
We won, and then, two hours later, we won again, securing the #1 seed in pool play. It was a strong start, and the excitement built as we earned a bye for the first bracket game, set for 3:30 the next day.
Konnor’s Position: Pitcher
Bracket Play:
The first game of bracket play was tough. We played against a team whose pitcher was 6 feet tall with twice as much power as he had height. But as soon as he ran out of gas, we were able to start hitting and take the lead again. On to the championship game!
In the championship game, we were right on the cusp of something big. The game was tight, the stakes were high, and the tension in the air was palpable. But as I watched my son on second base, leading off, I could see how quickly the tide could turn in baseball — one moment you’re in control, the next you’re facing a tough lesson.
It was the last inning, 2 outs runners on 1st and 2nd. In a split second, the pitcher made his move. My son, perhaps a bit too eager, was picked off at second base. The throw was quick, the tag was clean, and just like that, the momentum shifted. The game ended, and I could see the weight of that one play settle on his shoulders.
Baseball has this way of keeping you on your toes, always reminding you how unpredictable the game can be. Every minute, the outcome can change. That’s part of what makes it exciting — and part of what makes it so hard. But what I saw in my son after that play wasn’t just frustration with the moment — it was a hit to his self-esteem. He felt like he had cost the team, like that pick-off was the reason we didn’t finish first.
It’s tough to watch your kid beat themselves up over something so small, especially when you know the game isn’t just about one play. But in that moment, he felt like it was all on him. The weight of the game, the hope for a win, the pressure to perform — it all combined into one mistake, and he internalized it.
I’ve learned a lot from this game, not just about baseball, but about the resilience that comes with it. My son isn’t back to full strength yet, and he’s still finding his footing after his injury. He may not have been able to finish the game or play in every inning, but he was out there. He was present, doing what he could, and that, in itself, is a victory. Even when things don’t go the way we want them to, it’s about being there, showing up, and pushing through.
What I also learned is that youth baseball can be a tough environment — the intensity, the competitiveness, the pressure — it can all be a bit much at times. The negativity from opposing fans, the harsh comments, the criticism from the stands… It’s all part of the culture. But what I realized is that we don’t have to let that negativity shape our experience. It’s easy to get lost in the noise, but true growth happens when we focus on what really matters — the love of the game, the joy in the small victories, and the support of those who truly care.
At the end of the day, whether it’s a pick-off or a home run, the game moves on. What matters is how we respond to each moment, how we grow from the ups and the downs. And for my son, who’s still finding his way back to the game, every step forward is something to celebrate. He might not have gotten the result he wanted, but he’s playing again, and that’s a win in itself.
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