West Cocoa Chat

The "Rockledge karma" continues as we lost to Rockledge in the Class 4A, District 13 semi-final game, 7 to 3. The game followed the typical script of the last few years. We banged out 12 hits to Rockledge’s 5 but we stranded 11 runners on base. Rockledge committed no errors while we committed 4 and 2 costly base running errors on the same play. It was the last high school baseball game that our 9 seniors will ever play.

The game ended at 6:15 and the next game was scheduled to start at 7pm. My partner announced the first game and I was busy getting ready to announce the second game. My tasks consisted of filling out the “State mandated” lineup card and announcer’s sheet. Our press box is fairly large for a high school field, capable of holding around 20 to 30 people. A large table contained food and drink for coaches and officials.

A few minutes earlier, I had asked one of our parents if they could give Steven a ride to church. I didn’t think I would see him as I was back in the press box getting ready for the next game. Steven rarely came up to the press box usually choosing to hang out with his buddies or to go home to finish some homework.

In the hustle and bustle of all my activity, I suddenly realized that my soon to be 16 year old son was standing in front of me. He’s at that point in his life where when we’re in public; about all he’ll tolerate is a sideways, half-hug from me. When we’re at home, praying at night, he still gets a hug and kiss from Barb and me. But this time was different. Despite the fact that our press box was filled with coaches and game officials, his body language was strangely different.

I tried to console him by telling him that I was proud of what he had accomplished this year as a sophomore. He had scored one of our 3 runs from second base. I told him that I was proud of the team scoring 3 straight runs in the 7th to avoid a shut out on our home field. And then came my son’s reaction.

With tears welling up in his eyes he said, “Dad, there was a lot of crying in our dugout tonight.” We both fell into each other’s arms and embraced. For a moment he was my 6 year old again who on Opening Day broke his arm on the Monkey Bars. I remember those same eyes with those same tears asking me if his season was over?

Gotta wipe some tears. Have a good day family.