Another baseball blog?

This is another baseball blog. Or is it?

Jack had a baseball game today, and it was fairly typical. In three at-bats he had a base hit, a groundout, a fielder's choice that got a run home. His team was up 7-3 entering the 6th and final inning. At which point they handed him the ball and asked him to close it out.

A couple walks, a couple hits, a couple outs, and a couple of miscues later, it was 7-7. He struggled and was worked up; at one point the coach went out and seemed to be leading him in some breathing exercises. They got the third out and Jack stalked off the mound, obviously upset. We went down 1-2-3 in the bottom half of the inning and Jack went to the mound again. Started out strong -- got the first two outs on a strikeout and a little popup to him -- but then he got only a piece of a hard grounder back to him, and another miscue or two later in the field and they'd scored 2 runs and were up 9-7 and feeling happy. Jack and his teammates stalked angrily to the dugout, but I did hear one kid say, confidently, "C'mon, guys, let's hit!"

I saw Jack on the bench, downcast or frustrated or angry or all three, his coach talking to him. It's a scene I've seen during several pitching outings this year, either because he struggled with his control, gave up too many hits, or had too many errors made in the field behind him. But he'd be the third batter up this inning, so he'd at least get a chance at the plate.

First batter hit a ball to right center that went for a double. Second a single that made it 9-8. Jack came up, and the friend I was sitting with (one of his travel coaches, and who had worked with Jack on hitting just this week) said, Perfect time for a walk-off home run. I kind of smiled and said, yeah, OK, we just need a hit.

First pitch was a ball, maybe the first two pitches. Third pitch was a high strike, and Jack put a good swing on it. The ball soared in the air, high and deep to left. Seemed to hang up there forever. It was over the left fielder's head, landed on the warning track. As close to a homerun as he's ever come. Giddy, I looked to see the tying run score, except the runner on first had help up about 10 feet off the bag, unable to gauge -- I guess? It was strange -- whether it would be caught. Jack was in his back pocket (The first-base coach had to yell at him to slow down). That runner only made it to second.

Next batter had a hit to right center, and the game was tied and Jack was on third. There was a break in the action for some scoring discussion (the next batter had left the game early, and they were determining if an automatic out should be called; it was), and I noticed Jack on the third-base bag, doubled over, in exhaustion or emotion or I'm not sure. He'd score the winning run a few pitches later on a grounder to first; close play at the plate but he slid in and the catcher couldn't hold the ball and his team had won.

I remember celebrating as politely as I could -- it's hard because all his friends and their parents (our friends) are on opposing teams, and you know how conflicted their emotions are, because you were there three days ago -- high-fiving Emily, watching the players walk through the line saying good game and then going to their post-game huddles. Jack looked gassed; I'd learn later that 1) he'd got his knee stepped on by the catcher and had a bruise, and 2) he slammed his helmet after scoring in jubilation and got a comment from the other coach about it. I'm all about sportsmanship but knowing how bad Jack had felt just moments earlier about being responsible for blowing the lead, I'm sure his reaction was just unbridled emotion.

More even than I thought. In the huddle afterward, I could see he kind of had his face in his shirt. When it broke up, he grabbed his stuff and lit out for home. I caught up to him at the edge of the park, said Jack, hold up. He had a wide-eyed, hollow look; drained, overwhelmed. He said it was all just too much. Just too much. I put my hands on his shoulders, talked him down, said, You want to go home? He said yes. And we did.

The pressure, the emotion of blowing the lead, the emotion of delivering the big hit that was key to winning the game, scoring the winning run. Everything. Jack's been playing baseball a long time, but on the travel team, most of his teams, there are so many really good players, it's usually not all relying on him. Every once in a while, but not often. Not as much pressure, not as many big moments, not as many highs and lows as we'd had in the space of 15-20 intense minutes of baseball. He'd lost it, he'd won it, he'd had a meltdown and come as close as he's ever come in a game to hitting a home run under as much pressure as he's ever been under. On a baseball field, anyway.

It's just baseball, of course. But it's also life, because you're on display, trying to do your best, and a whole lot of people you know are watching. It's a lot for anyone. It's especially a lot for a 12-year-old kid.

At home, with an ice pack, and after huddling on his bed for a little bit with his Mom talking to him, and after a shower, he'd come down. I talked to him, told him I was proud of him. Told him he'd faced a lot of pressure and handled it and responded. Asked him what he was thinking before his last at bat. He said, "I was just raging...I went up there wanting to hit a homerun." He very nearly did.

Later that evening, we played Super Mario Kart on his Wii gaming system, as we'd done years and years ago, when he was 7 or 8, probably, maybe younger (I'll check the old blogs). Before he knew how tough baseball could be, and how it's full of highs and lows, sometimes all at the same time.