Tom Hanks famously said “There’s no crying in baseball” in the 1992 movie “A League of Their Own.” Well, I’m here to tell you that’s not exactly true. It’s possibly a prepositional problem. There has been plenty of crying over baseball Chez Belfry today. There has been crying about baseball. There has been crying concerning baseball. Here’s what happened.
My eight-year-old son, the one who wakes up and reads about baseball in the newspaper every morning, the one who has spent all summer playing baseball, the one who goes to bed listening to baseball, the one who is absolutely convinced that he will be a Major League Baseball player when he grows up, ideally for the Brewers of course, tried out for a club-level team on Sunday. And today, after three of the longest days of my life, (“Mommy! Did you get an email yet? What about now? Can you check again?”) he gave up hope that he made the team. (Note to The Powers That Be – go ahead and send an email to the kids that don’t make the team too. Don’t just make them wait. Seriously. They’re eight. Henry said at dinner tonight, “well, maybe there’s still a chance?” It’s bordering on child cruelty, you guys.)
Henry, a pretty practical kid, asked me what his chances were the night before he tried out. “Well, you have no chance if you don’t try,” I said, copping out.
“But do you think I’ll make it?” he asked earnestly and seriously and thoughtfully, the way he asks all questions.
I looked into his sweet face. “I don’t know, Henry,” I said. “Of course you have a chance.” I paused, wondering how honest I should be. “But you’re not the fastest, or the hardest hitter.” His face fell. “Wait, listen. What you are is the hardest worker…the most determined…the stubbornest. I love that about you…but it might be hard for the coaches to see in an hour-long tryout.”
Well, they didn’t. And he didn’t. And I had to tell him.
I hated telling him he didn’t make it…because I wasn’t just telling him he didn’t make a baseball team. I was telling him that the world is a little less shiny than he thought. I was telling him life is hard, and sometimes you can want something with all of your heart and still not get it. I was telling him that I’m not actually magic – I can’t make all of his hurts go away with a kiss and a hug anymore. It’s a lesson we all learn eventually – I’m not sure I learned it at age eight, but Henry sure has.
I do have to tell you what happened next though, especially since I’ve written about Henry and sportsmanship before here. This morning after finding out his good buddy made the team and he didn’t, Henry swallowed hard and said, “Way to go Mason. Good job.” And you know what they did this afternoon? They played ball, the way they have all summer long, and the way they will for many summers to come, I hope.
But I’m sorry, sometimes there will be crying in baseball.
Bats in the Belfry 