Another baseball weekend

Went to Rehoboth, Massachusetts for a baseball tournament this past weekend. It was a fairly crazy schedule that included five baseball games -- and very nearly six -- between 6 p.m. Friday and 6 p.m. Sunday.

Jack's first baseball tournament was in Basking Ridge, New Jersey back on Memorial Day Weekend. To the surprise of everyone, Port Chester went in and won all five games (including two playoff games) to emerge as champions. Rehoboth, though, was viewed as a much tougher nut to crack. In past years, Port Chester not only hadn't done well there -- they hadn't won a game. Last year they went 0-3 in games on Friday and Saturday and cleared out of Dodge early in the morning on Sunday.

Given that information, expectations were kind of low, but surprise. On Friday night, Port Chester simply outclassed its opponent, shutting them out in a 10-0 game that shouldn't even have been that close -- the umps incorrectly imposed a 4-run limit on runs per inning. After that easy win, the team returned to the hotel and (with temperatures in the 90s all weekend) celebrated at the pool until curfew. Lots of happy baseball players, coaches and families, and plenty of jumping in the pool and throwing kids around (to their delight). Kate probably had as much fun as Jack, which was nice.

The first game Saturday was more of the same; Pirates dominated a lesser opponent. It was a closer game (albeit not on the scoreboard, 11-0 I think), but never in doubt.

Jack was struggling a little at the plate. He started out with his feet too wide apart; got that straightened out, then wasn't keeping his second hand on the bat; then (since the whole team was drawing heat for taking strikes) overcorrected, swinging at everything. By Game 3, he was hacking a little bit (Port Chester won that game, too, though, in dramatic fashion, nearly blowing a 7-2 lead but cutting down the potential tying run at the plate in a bang-bang play to end the game).

In Game 4, he struck out three times, so discouraged after one that he came back to the bench in tears. "I stink at baseball!" he cried, as low as I've seen him in a while. Incidentally, the no crying in baseball motto does not apply to 8-year-old games. I think I would have an easier time listing the players who didn't cry this weekend -- there weren't any. I had the tough experience of picking Jack from that low point, just as the other coaches had to pick their own kids up from equal (or in some cases, worse) meltdowns. Not to mention the parents who either tried to soothe (or in some cases, caused) their own child's tears.

It's an emotional experience, for 8-year-olds, for parents, for coaches, for baseball fans. I saw parents probably going a little too far in yelling at kids, and put in impossible situations of trying to talk despondent kids back to calmness. I felt that with Jack, after seeing him as low as he was, what I needed to do there was pick him up, and dial back the advice and counsel, because he was getting so much (from coaches, teammates, and other parents) that it was simply too much -- more than an adult should have to deal with, probably, and way more than an 8-year-old should.

So I cut back on the advice, and ramped up the encouragement, and things got better. In Game 5, which turned out to be the last game, he came up with the bases loaded and us down 2-1, and got a hit off a slow roller down the third base line that he beat out. I was yelling RUN RUN RUNNNNN! and I think he was running as fast as I've seen him, but whatever else that may been said or done, he got there and was safe. He came back to the dugout after the inning (where we took a 3-2 lead) as happy as I've seen him, with a big grin and his eyes shining, happy he'd come through. I don't care if the hit had been 5 inches, but I know he (and yes, I) needed that to have happy memories of the weekend, or so they wouldn't be overshadowed by his struggles.

We lost that fifth game, though, 8-7, with the tying runs on base in the final inning as three Pirates went down on strikes. There were a lot of tears and a lot of disappointment; having won their first tournament, some players on this team didn't know what being eliminated felt like. But it was an awesome game, and the team played hard, and players all over the lineup made plays or got hits to leave us with the memory of a game that left the tournament sponsors afterward saying it was the best they could remember in several years. A pretty classy moment, even if not all the kids wanted to hold their heads high afterward. But they could have.

Three asides that should be mentioned:

I have never been so hot for three days straight as at this tournament. There was almost no shade anywhere at the baseball complex, and the dugouts that had shade had metal roofs -- much warmer in them than under, say, a tree. And we were in shorts; the kids were in baseball pants, high socks, and cleats. High volumes of water, Gatorade, juice, and water were consumed, and high volumes of perspiration were put forth. It was just disgustingly hot, although strangely none of the kids seemed to mind. Long as there was plenty of water to pour over heads, it was all good with them.

Kate no doubt doesn't enjoy the 12 hours of baseball per weekend, but she does have a lot of fun running around with the players' little sisters. And brothers, one of whom a 4-year-old she allegedly kissed on the mouth this weekend. Awesome! She was up past 10 the first night (and second straight, since the previous night was the 4th, and she enjoyed her first fireworks display), and jumped in and out of the pool, and was tossed, around 100 times. We hosted another little girl for a sleepover the first night; they were pretty cute together. The second night, though, way behind on sleep and overwhelmed with activity and other kids and baseball, she was plenty happy to just go back to the room and sleep for about 11 hours straight.

Saturday night, with the team 3-0 and having enjoyed a nice meal at Outback Steakhouse, we went to the Grand Prix Arcade/Racetracks across from the hotel. It's a sprawling collection of bumper cars, bumper boats, video games, mini golf, and go-kart racing; basically kid heaven. Jack had more fun than I've seen him doing the various racing things, just giddy with laughter at each new track. He even talked me into going onto the bumper boats; I'm sure one day a chiropractor will tell me to thank him.

Headed back to the hotel at around 11 p.m. that night, an exhausted Jack waxed philosophical on everything. "It's amazing how much my life has changed by going out for travel baseball," he said. How so, I asked. "Last year I was just at home sleeping at this time. Now I'm running around with my friends all weekend and swimming and playing baseball. It's great."

And then we got back to the hotel, this half-asleep kid went to bed, and he slept about two hours later the next morning than he had in years.