Phase 3: The Never-Ending Summer of Baseball

We’re now entering Phase 3 of our young teenage son’s baseball career. The never-ending rhythm of summer tournament play. Long weekends, hotel rooms, musty cleats that stink up the car, dugout dust, and emotional highs and lows packed into 72 hours.

The truth is, we haven’t been all that competitive in our past two tournaments. We’ve run out of steam, lost our foam, just didn’t have enough Rizz to carry us through the lean moments. But this weekend, something shifted.

This tournament, War at the Shore, held near the tribal lands of Mohegan Sun and Mystic, CT, felt different from the start. We opened with a strong Friday night showing, and our team rolled through with three wins before falling short in Sunday’s matchup, a rematch with our toughest opponent.

It was a winnable game. We battled back from a 5-0 deficit, but baseball, as always, has its element of luck. A few balls dropped into the Bermuda Triangle, just out of reach beyond the infield or along the foul lines. Add in some costly errors, and we lost our edge, both in pacing and psychology.

Still, we made it back. And though the ride home felt especially long, there was something satisfying in the silence and the over-analysis of what-ifs. Every small moment matters in baseball. And somehow, every moment mattered this weekend.

What really stayed with me wasn’t just the score or the stats. It was the time spent with my family. It felt like we were gone for a week, not just a weekend. Watching your child play is like being pulled into a Broadway show. You lose yourself in the performance and production. Every play, every at-bat takes something out of you. The butterflies, the anxious pangs in your gut, the quiet hopes;  it’s all part of it.

I sat slightly away from the crowd on a grassy knoll on this warm summer day, a little removed but with the best view. It gave me perspective, a moment to breathe it all in. The game below, the sky above. The majesty of it all. These are the days that move fast and live forever.

Every kid contributed this weekend. They showed up, brought their energy, and let their favorite juiced bats bring out the best in them. They thought they could, and so they did.

There’s a synergy now. A chosen family dynamic forming between the boys. The time spent together on and off the field. I love watching them come together, the way they cheer for one another. The way they shout to their teammate who made an error, telling him to shake it off and get the next one. No blame, just TLC for one another. We’ve played on many teams, but this is a special group of young men.

Then there’s the parental chaos. Multiple hotels, packing and repacking supplies, forgetting essentials, trying to make a reservation for 30 people to eat together, then figuring out how to split the bill. Ending the night with fireside table chats in the bagel buffet lounge. We become friends, make it work, and enjoy our time together.

These joyful, chaotic weekends are forging memories that will carry them through the long walk of life. Because we’re not meant to just try. Life isn’t something we have to do, it’s something we get to do. We’re meant to reach. And the bigger the challenge, the greater the memory, whether or not we come out on top.

And maybe that’s what makes it all so special. The dirt on their cleats. The voices in the dugout. The pain of a loss, the joy of a win, and everything in between. Chasing childhood greatness with your friends, giving it everything you’ve got, leaving it all out there.

That’s the part they’ll remember.
That’s the part that lasts.