Originally posted on Facebook
I played Little League baseball as a kid. The coach decided to utilize my talents in Right Field. It wasn't for my blazing speed, ball hawking prowess, or my canon for an arm. It was because I was terrible.
I was so bad, my coach actually instructed me NOT to swing when I went up to bat in hopes that I would be walked. You can't fault my coach too much. Our team was really good and, despite my horrid play, battled for first place the entire season. I just needed to keep my shortcomings to a minimum. At least, that was the plan.
During a home game, I was on deck. It was a pivotal moment in the late innings: two outs, runners on base, and it's a tight one. "Remember Percy, don't swing", the coach reminds me before I jog up to bat. More often than not, this strategy would lead to a strikeout. I could sense my teammates deflated in the dugout preparing to go out on the field. Someone shouts, "Come on, Percy!", from the stands. I take my stance knowing full well that I'm just going to stand there and hope for the best.
The first pitch goes by. "Strike!", is the call. I swing my bat to loosen up as if I plan to swing, but there is built up frustration in my motion. "I hate how undependable I am", I think to myself. "I don't contribute a damn thing and I have the audacity to put on this uniform to just stand here?! Enough is enough!" I look up at the pitcher. I tighten the grip on my bat. I feel this incredible urge to break free. "I don't care what my coach says. If I like the pitch, I'm swinging at it with all I've got."
My coach calls out to me as if he knows I'm up to something. Perhaps it was in my eyes. Maybe I dug in my heels. I really have no idea how he knew. In any case, I dismiss him. I'm just looking at the pitcher. "If I like it, I'm going to swing", I repeat to myself as the pitcher winds up. He pitches. I hate it. It hits the catcher's glove. "Ball!", is the call. My inner dialogue immediately becomes a broken record again as I reset. "If I like it, I'm going to swing". He winds again. He pitches again. Oh yeah. This is it!
I break the rules and trust my gut as I plant my leg foward. I feel the force come up from my legs into my core as I convert it to a twisting motion and begin to whip the bat around with all of my might only to realize halfway into my swing that the pitch is far outside. Unfortunately, I'm committed to the swing at this point. I reach out the bat as far as I can praying to make contact. I feel a harsh, painful vibration buzz into my arms. I see the baseball zoom away.
The first baseman reaches for the ground ball. Had he reacted a split second earlier, he would have scooped it up and stepped on first for the third out. Had I swung a split second later, the ball would have been foul. Instead, the ball is rolling down the first base line. "I did it! I didn't leave any runners stranded", I thought to myself as I'm running to first base. That is short lived as I see that the ball has rolled all the way down to the fence. I realized that I could make it to second base if I book it. I wasn't the fastest on my team, but I wasn't exactly slow either.
I step on first and make the turn. "What am I doing?!", I thought. "I had a single and I'm risking it for a double. What if I don't make it?" Too late now. As I approach, I notice the body language of the second baseman and shortstop. They are standing straight up with their arms relaxed down their sides looking into the distance behind me. I'm scared to look back, but my logic fathoms that this ball isn't coming anytime soon. "If I run to third, this ball has to travel across the entire field to get me", I added. I keep my speed as I step on second. I'm heading for a triple. "Are you out of your mind?!", I thought. "I had a standup double. Surely, that would have sufficed. Too late now. I'm heading for third and I better make it!"
At this time I can see my teammates in the dugout. They are jumping and screaming as they root for me. I want to bask in the feeling of accomplishment, but I don't have time. A loud roar from the crowd, my dugout, and the third base coach happens in unison indicating that someone royally screwed up behind me. The third base coach is waving me in. Looks like I'm heading home.
I round third and see the catcher in front of me. "I was just here", I quickly joke to myself as I run full speed ahead. Whether I'm safe or out makes no difference. It seemed like a decade ago when I last stepped into the batter's box. I was, then, a timid boy who lacked confidence and self esteem. I was, now, a better version of myself; a person who takes risks when the conditions are right. This transformation would be impossible had I deemed the status quo acceptable and never took a swing. What a lesson to learn.
The catcher jumps to catch the incoming throw. I slide to home plate. It's all over. I think I'm safe, but I can't be sure. I look up to see the umpire. His arms are extended outward. In-the-park homerun confirmed. I pound my palm into home plate three times in excitement. My uniform is the dirtiest it's ever been. I run to the dugout into a sea of supportive teammates with hands and fists pounding and slapping at my helmet, shoulders, chest, and back. This was the first of many wonderful moments I had in little league over the years. I made my way to Catcher as I used this experience to progress as an athlete, a musician, a person. It's the reason I am where I am today.
Tonight, I play the final show of the 57th and 9th tour. When it's all said and done, 114 shows will have been played in 41 countries over a 259 day stretch. Those are great stats; certainly better than batting 1 for 4 on the day like in my story. Still, as my story demonstrates, the significance is not in the numbers. It's about stepping into the batters box and not being afraid to swing when you see a good pitch heading your way. Great things can happen. Speaking of which, you'll have to excuse me. I'm in Cluj, Romania and I'm on deck.
Thanks to Sting, Joe Sumner, The Last Bandoleros, the 57th and 9th band, the 57th and 9th crew, and the audiences for sharing your talent and support. I'll catch you on the flip side.
