Trying to figure out exactly when I fell in love with sports is a difficult one. I could have been any age, I don’t remember. Was there some pivotal moment I can’t recall? I just remember loving sports my whole life, as if it is a part of me…a big part of me. Watching and playing sports quenches my thirst. I’m not sure where that thirst comes from but I always walk away feeling better after a game. As if my inner sports soul is back on balance. As an adult I still have the same anxiety and excitement I had when I was younger. I remember playing on the Point Pleasant Boro 12 Year Old All Star baseball team. Being named to it blew my mind. That year the league experimented with letting the players vote on who made the team and lucky enough I did. It was the best feeling in the world getting that All-Star uniform. I will never forget it. Black and Gold like the Pittsburgh Steelers. I’m sure I could name everyone on that team and their positions. I certainly remember the coaches as my Dad was one of them. He also happened to be the coach of my little league team that year, the Astros. The league champion was also named the All-Star Coach. I’m sure it is much more complicated these days.
The day was certainly long when you had a 5:00pm game at the age of 12. I would literally count down the hours. ”8 more hours until we hit the field, 7 more hours, 6 more hours.” People these days tell you to be present, in the moment if you will. I was not a kid who was “present” on game days. I had that feeling in the pit of my stomach all day. Thinking about the game and who we were going to play. As if there was something more at stake than just a game. All I wanted to do was play, come up big, and be out there with my teammates. As an adult I still have the same feeling when I watch my son play. It’s not something I hold onto so I can hold onto my youth. I just can’t shake it! I’m as fired up to watch my son play as if I was getting ready to play myself. I still find myself counting down the hours.
This is one of the great rewards of being a parent. Walking through my memories of being my son’s age and being a part of this journey with him. Trying to remember what I was thinking at 8 years old. My son’s first year in “kid pitch” is winding down as the summer begins. The team and my son are doing well. My memories of this age are not the ones playing out in front of me. I thought the other kids I was playing against were throwing fastballs the speed of Nolan Ryan. Hitting with the power of Mike Schmidt. None of that seems to be happening as I watch my son’s team play. I’m reminded when I talk to my son after the game his perspective is the same. He thinks he is Coco Crisp facing Tim Lincecum and Buster Posey. “Dad that guy threw pretty hard! But it was easy to hit him.” Now that certainly sounds familiar.
I’m definitely not one of those overbearing parents. I cheer for my son and let the coaches’ coach. When he comes up to me during the game, as he has a habit of doing after he does something good I will whisper in his ear that he did a good job. It’s a difficult balancing act to support your son and teach him the humility of sports. If he strikes out or makes an error he again will find his way over at times with water in his eyes and on the verge of tears. I will also whisper in his ear and remind him that his favorite player Coco strikes out. And that the beauty of baseball and all sports is that you will get another chance to do better the next time. It may take that extra moment or hug but he bounces back and that smile of his is not far behind.
Bob Foran