The Playoffs

Driving down to our playoff game, the mood in the car is relaxed. So much has changed since we started our travel, competitive AAU baseball journey, even since last fall. Back then, we were a new team, a group of kids coming together from the western side of Connecticut with a few New York drop-ins. No single town was overly represented; we were all looking to get away from the small-town Babe Ruth baseball we’d played for the last five years and find something grander.

It’s hard to describe your emotional state as a spectator and parent on the sideline. It’s like having your heart walk out of your chest and start hitting and catching balls. You pray, hope, and will things to happen from the fence, wishing to see your kid succeed in their own effort while keeping the team’s momentum alive. It really is an emotional roller coaster that you do your best to keep hidden as you coolly post up on the side of the fence.

Our feelings that day were subdued, a kind of quiet solitude going into the game. We’d had an amazing season, only really facing a few defeats. The Patriots were the number one seed in our division or group, whatever you want to call it. When we beat them earlier in the season, it seemed they thought it was a fluke, a one-off their coach told them to shrug off.

I remembered one of their fathers from a previous spring or summer game bragging about how his son was so talented that everyone wanted him on their team. He said that this wasn’t even his son’s “real” team, that it was the level below, and on that day, they beat us. He was the kind of dad who knew everything about everything, his sideline gear manufactured by pretension. He was a John Kreese type who expected victory, preached “Mercy is for the weak,” and could imagine punching through a car window if his son failed.

Now we were playing his son’s team — the A team, the gold or diamond-level best. I hadn’t forgotten, because that kind of peacocking surety in a game of probabilities leaves a stink you don’t forget.

We got off to a great start, two runs batted in, momentum on our side. Our pitching was superb, and we closed the first inning up 2–0. That held until the third inning, when two quick outs were followed by an error that let in two runs. We’ve never been the kind of team to rally with two outs, and we always seemed to face teams that did.

We escaped the inning tied 2–2, but then the errors came, and we couldn’t hit anymore. The tie turned to 2–4, then another run came in. You could feel the momentum shift. The other team’s parents, whose voices somehow sounded like nails on a chalkboard, started chirping, and I walked down the line muttering a few expletives to myself.

We entered the seventh inning down 2–5 but starting with the top of our lineup. I was restrained but hopeful. It was our best shot, though being down three runs felt heavy. James singled on a line drive to center, and we had a man on base. A dash of energy stirred as Will hit a fielder’s choice to second. Thankfully, James stayed up instead of sliding, and the baseman couldn’t complete the double play. One out.

Up next, Joe hit a clean single down the line, putting runners on first and second. Our big hitter, Liam, stepped up. The stars aligned; the outfield was playing too shallow, and he crushed one to left that rolled to the fence. Two runs were scored, and now it was 4–5.

They changed pitchers. Casey was hit by the new hurler and took a base. Runners on first and third. Keegan smacked one down the line, bringing Liam home and tying the game. Our runner advanced to second. Two outs. Tommy came up to bat and knocked a solid hit to left, bringing Casey home. 6–5, Rangers Black.

We just had to hold them for one more at-bat.

Then, like Maximus fighting the northern tribes, Will unleashed hell from the mound. Three pitches, three strikes, one out. The second out came from Kai making a ground play to first. Now two outs, no runners. The parents were burning up in the cool forty-five-degree air. We were doing all the chirping now. Their last batter popped one up, and Tommy charged in for a tough catch to close it out.

It felt incredible. Even as I write this, I can feel the energy again — the kids shouting and sprinting toward one another. A hard-fought victory, not just over their opponent but over themselves. They learned what it means to stay calm, stay focused, and win through mindset as much as skill.

As we drove home, the energy of the game still filled the car. We replayed the moments, analyzed the plays, and basked in the joy of his experience. All the gripes about playing on a cold Sunday night an hour from home disappeared, and even the smell of his cleats couldn’t touch this high. For one night, this was our World Series, and nothing on TV could compare to the greatness we felt out there under the lights.