A BASEBALL IN HAND

Something as simple as a symbol of a sport can mean so much to us now and in the future.

By Matt Soberg

A Minnesota summer brings with it two essential benefits – boating and baseball – things we must take as much advantage of as possible before winter snows come once again. And we all know it, because the warm weather days fly by as fast as an eagle on overwatch when fishing or a line drive past a shortstop. In between the days on the lake or on the ball field, we must make time to mow the grass and conquer other necessities around the house while we can. Cleaning my basement office was one of those duties for me this summer, and after practice on a late Sunday evening, I tackled the disaster.

While the strewn-about magazines were piled in place and the half-used legal pads were tossed in the trash, a sports scrapbook from the glory days was unearthed amongst the other materials hoarded over the years. The spiral-bound collection of construction paper, news clippings, pictures and glue was compiled by my mom nearly 30 years ago. I hesitated to even open it that night, knowing I’d fall into the abyss of forgotten memories when I had more pressing duties to do. But alas, I took the bait, sat in a comfy chair, and dove head-first into the pages – the office cleaning would have to wait.

After reading some scraps of Little League recaps from the local newspaper and reviewing random pictures of friends and family, one eight-by-ten photograph was centered all by itself on a sheet of purple paper. Embarrassingly, it was a black-and-white image of me, with a cockeyed baseball cap, a jersey that was too small, four-eyed glasses and braces. I was leaning against a chain-link fence with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a baseball in the other. Apparently, I was pretty proud of myself at the time, gripping two seams on the ball with a big smile, showing off for the camera.

With no recollection of the photo whatsoever, I had zero idea the identity of the photographer or the time or place it was taken. By the looks of it, I’d say I was about 13 or 14 years old, probably the same age as my boy today. With no imminent memories of the moment, I started reading the newspaper clippings on the surrounding pages.  In one article, according to the local reporter, I hit an inside-the-park home run against a rival in a playoff game. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of that either – the “home run”, as written, likely included three throwing errors, at least. That seems to make the most sense.

It was refreshing to read about the good games and bad games, the statistics and highlights of the team and my buddies. We weren’t very good, but it is not really all about the wins and losses. Although I had things to do that night, the moment on memory lane was time well spent. As I write this now, that mental image of the baseball clutched tightly by a smiling and clumsy ballplayer in his early teens sticks with me the most. That kid back then, although I barely remember him, obviously drew a pure passion and a constant confidence and a vision of hope from the silly little ball of leather and laces he held in hands.

There is just something about a baseball. Sometimes it is scary to realize how much something as simple as a symbol of a sport can mean so much to us. On its face, the ball itself is only a hunk of tightly-wound string covered by white leather intricately stitched together with red laces. A baseball is thrown, hit, and caught. A baseball is often lost in the weeds or woods to never be found again. Despite this, that symbol of the game can mean the future to a teenager holding that ball in his hands.

I’ve been coaching youth baseball for some years now, and I know that the game is a fickle sport wrought with failure much more often than success. Even the best in the World fail twice as much as they win on the field. That is a fact that is hard for a young kid to wrap his head around. Unfortunately, one mistake can be the difference in the game. You will lose. You will strike out. You will make errors. All of these are guaranteed in the game. But, the beauty of baseball is that you always get a second chance. You always get another at-bat. You always get another pitch. If you can flush the fails, you can make the next play and succeed.  

I keep a baseball in my car and hold it often while I drive. Maybe it is more because I’m a fidgety person by nature, but it is something that keeps my mind healthy with memories that soothe the soul. I’ll grip it tight, imitating the same two-seamer I so loved when pitching back in the day. It is a reminder that although I may fail and fail often, I’ll get another chance, and I must push forward. It is a symbol for not just the game, but for life.

The next time you find an old ball in the weeds or the woods and bring it home or throw it in the bucket to use again, please remember that the particular pile of twine and leather and laces may just mean so much to one of us at any given time. As a coach I’ve seen how one mere moment with a baseball can teach a life lesson or at least bring a smile to a kid who needs it.

A baseball in hand represents the unknown and the risk. A baseball in hand forces us to conquer our fears. A baseball in hand teaches us to battle through it all. A baseball in hand justifies the joy of the game. A baseball in hand pushes us towards positivity. A baseball in hand gives a glimmer of hope to a young man betting it all on the future.  If you are willing to take the challenge, that next pitch might be a strike. That next swing might find green grass. That next catch might win the game. There is something about a baseball in hand. Something as simple as a symbol of a sport can mean so much to us now and in the future.