Sifting

A pre-winter cleaning of the garage has me sifting through four buckets of baseballs.  There will ultimately be two buckets; one with baseballs still viable for high school batting practice and another I’ll donate to a coach throwing to younger kids.  There will be dozens retired to the garbage can.  The torn.  The squishy.  The semi-square.  A t-ball or two that brings a smile.  How did that ball last so long?

Off-white, scuffed and compacted as hard as a jai alia orb, is what I’m looking for.  These are the only baseballs that can survive high school varsity bat speed.  Before a year passes, these survivors will be passed on too.   Baseballs at the Malin household are as ubiquitous as sand at a beach house.  But that is coming to an end, and this sifting might as well be one of twelve steps. 

How many tens of thousands of batting practice pitches have I thrown to young Davenport ballplayers?  Enough to wear through a rotator cuff, before a 2009 tune up.  That took another ten mph off my already aged heater, so I couldn’t strike out a high school ballplayer these days if my life depended on it.  I’m pretty sure I could fan a Little Leaguer if I had too, so long as they weren’t all-star caliber.  At this point, I’m just happy to not embarrass myself when asked to throw out first pitches.

They say it’s the most difficult task in any sport.  Round stick.  Round target.  Two tenths of a second to calculate trajectory and start a swing that creates 150 mph or more of closing speed.  The best hitter ever, in his best year ever, still failed more than he succeeded.  If your name’s not Ted Williams, you’ll fail seven or eight times for every ten trips to the plate.  So, we throw.  We throw, and throw, and throw to ballplayer after ballplayer after ballplayer, getting them ready for their trips to the plate.

The guys who are doing it right understand its all a metaphor.  Fastballs, curveballs, sliders, change-ups, getting drilled … they are all preparation for what life throws at you.  You’ll fail.  Everyone will see it, just as they see you swing and miss at the plate.  How you carry yourself as you head back into the dugout is central to it all.  Do you keep your head up?  Do you take responsibility?

When the game's over, do you climb back into the batting cage, and harden some more baseballs, and yourself?