Red Stitching

Tonight as I watch the boys from the Triple A team take the field, I see easy, fluid movements: throwing, catching, hitting. The ease of the glove, the knowledge of what to do with the ball when it comes to them. The movement to back up another position, to play a hitter deep, to watch for the bunt. Movements so easy now because they have been practiced and executed thousands of times before, movements that now seem second nature to each man on the field.

Maybe it began with that first game of catch in the backyard. Maybe it began with the smell of the leather glove or the feel of the white cowhide ball, with that bright red stitching. But somewhere it began. The love of baseball.

Pitching and catching with dad became playing on a Little League team: uniforms, bats, cleats and snowcones after the game. Some boys enjoyed the days of Little League and left it at that, but those deeply in love with the game couldn't let it stop there.

The games once or twice a week became weekend tournaments played in cities far from home. The games became try-outs for the high school team, the practices, the games, the playoffs and maybe even the sweetness of a championship. There may have been interest from the big leagues even then -- but maybe it came later as they played college ball. Scouts in the stands, letters of interest from an organization. Where would it lead?

Now, tonight, as they take the field under the lights in this ballpark that is their current home, they do again the things that they know best. And maybe with tonight's game the door may open to that which they have been dreaming of since that first day of wearing the glove and throwing the ball -- the chance to show to everyone what they have learned so well and loved so much.