The Titans and the Rattlers were in the top of the third inning. Rattlers were up to bat, with two outs, and the pitcher was working hard to make it a third. The score was one to nothing, Titans on top.
It was the first game of a single elimination tournament. Schedules were tight and time was limited. As a result, the pitcher’s warm up time was cut short. After the first inning, his arm felt a tad strained, but not bad enough to be voluntarily benched. Besides – he knew the team needed him. By the top of the third, he had thrown a few wild pitches as a result of the strain - two of which made contact with the batters.
The batter took a few practice swings while the pitcher readied himself to throw once more. The pitcher raised the glove and ball above his head to begin his windup. His left foot stepped backwards. Then the glove came forward, and rested on his chest for a moment. His left knee came up, he stepped towards home, reached back, and threw hard.
At first, it looked like it would be a strike, but it quickly veered inside, and SMACK! It hit the batter.
The third batter of the game.
The umpire told the batter to take his base, and the Rattler’s coach began making his way out to the field. He approached the ump, and said “That’s the third time he’s hit someone this game. They need to take him out.”
The Titans fans were unsure whether the request was a rule or a preference. They watched as the umpire walked toward the Titans coach. Then the coach and ump made their way to the mound, removing all doubt from the spectator’s minds.
The Titan’s best pitcher . . . the one the team counted on . . . would have to step off the mound.
The pitcher slowly handed the ball to the umpire. With his shoulders and head hung low, he headed towards his alternative position of third base, receiving a few pats of understanding and forgiveness from his teammates along the way.
But the pats were little comfort. He had let his team down in the most important game of the season. Nevermind that the the ump made a bad call on the second batter he supposedly hit. That batter had swung on that pitch. The ball had hit the bat, not his hands. Although the Titans coach tried to reason with the ump about that call, and convince him to not count it, there was really no use arguing about it. It was what it was.
The next batter was on his way up to bat. The game would go on, regardless of the pitcher’s feelings or the coach’s lobbying.
And that’s when it happened.
All time stood still, as that pitcher made the long walk from third base to first base, where the batter he had struck stood with one foot on the base, one on the field. You could almost hear a pin drop, in spite of the park being crowded.
Nobody heard the exact words of the pitcher. But his body language told them that he was offering a sincere apology.
Silence hung in the air.
When the apology was accepted with grace and forgiveness, the Rattler’s fan club broke the silence with a round of applause, showing their appreciation of the pitcher’s good sportsmanship.
The pitcher simply jogged back to third base, put his glove back on, slapped it, and positioned himself to play ball.
———————————————————-
As that pitcher’s mother, I can honestly say that I’ve never been more touched, more thankful for, or more humbled by my own son. My eyes had welled up with tears when the umpire took the ball from him. My heart ached because I knew how bad his ached.
But when he treaded that seemingly long, humble road from third to first, my heart flip flopped. My thirteen year old son was making one of the best decisions he would ever make. He was choosing to be humble in a world that incessantly tells him to be proud, to stick up for himself. My heart pounded louder and harder, and more tears came to my eyes as I realized he had made this apology on his own accord, with no prompting from anyone but the Holy Spirit.
As it turned out, the Titans lost the game.
But somehow, it didn’t matter. Because ultimately, my son had won bigger than he had ever won in his life.
I love you, Andrew. Thanks for making this Father’s Day one that your dad and I will never forget. For doing what’s right. For setting an example to your teammates. And for honoring and glorifying the name of your Heavenly Father.
