Fall Ball

It’s not the World Series I connect with October so much as Clare playing fall ball of one sort or another.  At a scrimmage her sophomore year at Elmhurst, I watched my daughter go five for six, with a homerun and two doubles.  And, yes, the only out was a line drive. 

A good ten years before that, she was playing fall-ball baseball.  One year, she was on a team where the coach muttered threats at anyone who crossed him.  Another year, third grade to be precise, Clare was playing as late as 10 PM on a school night.  Michele wasn’t happy, but our daughter couldn’t have cared less.  There were baseballs for her to hit and catch.

Basically, playing October baseball helped Clare become a four-year starter on her high school team.  Her first coach went on to become the softball coach at her high school.  Long story short, Euks liked the way Clare hustled, and Clare liked her coach.  Even as an eight-year old, she ran hard and swung harder.

Euks didn’t treat her as a girl, which was good, and he didn’t treat her as a hopeless case, the way I saw another coach do with a kid.  I was coaching first base when the opposing coach called out for his first baseman to hold the runner, only nothing happened.  He yelled again, nothing, and again, and again, nothing.  Finally, the coach asked me to show the boy how to do it.

You can only wonder what kind of impression that made on the kid.  I remember having lunch once with an editor for a university press.  When our conversation turned to sports, he spoke with great relish about the decline and death of a Little League coach who had treated him poorly as a player.  I’m afraid there are a lot of adults walking around with that kind of hurt, but I doubt Clare is one of them. 

So, I’ll probably end up watching the World Series; after all, I have a pizza riding on the outcome.  Just don’t be surprised if my thoughts wander to other Octobers and a girl who hit during them.