There have certainly been some memorable moments from Quinn's baseball season. It's impressive how much the kids have improved; some who could barely swing a bat at the beginning of the season are now getting the ball out of the infield. One of the older kids, all of seven, managed to get unassisted triple plays - not once, but twice. And even the veterans said the weather was memorably bad: cold at the start of the season, terrible heat and humidity at the end, and lots of rained out games in between.
All the parents brought snacks at one time or another, and most of the dads helped with the coaching. I was not so confident in my coaching ability, and so I reluctantly accepted the position of 'bench manager': my job was to make sure the kids were ready to bat, preferably with a batting helmet on, when they walked toward the plate. I think I was successful, as there was only one minor injury behind the fence, and let's face it, that three-year-old spectator should have known better than to wander so close.
One of the most memorable evenings we had was the night the other team didn't show up. The kids were all dressed up, it was a rare, pleasant evening... and so we decided to have a scrimmage. With only ten kids on the team, adults were called upon to play, and there I was, playing my very first baseball game since grade school. On first base, no less (something that probably hadn't happened since, oh, the first baseball game I played in grade school).
Inevitably, it was going to happen. Quinn stepped to the plate with no one on. He let a couple of easy pitches go by, then connected and drove a ground ball straight toward the pitcher. The pitcher, another adult, scooped it up, looked at me, watched Quinn's progress toward first base. On previous pitches, he had deliberately thrown high or wide so that it would be impossible to catch, and the runner could get to base. With a smile that said "Good luck explaining this one," he lobbed it right at my glove.
I had a decision to make. I could bobble the catch and let him arrive safely on the base, or make the easy catch and the out. Elation or disappointment.
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My dad taught me to play chess, and he never let me win, reasoning that an easy win would teach me nothing. I recall beating him once, when he was distracted - I think he was selfishly focused on soldering pipes or something.
The other day, Quinn came back from an overnight stay with his grandparents, where he had learned to play checkers - and he was also really curious about chess. I was leery of teaching him, wondering if he'd understand the rules, or have enough patience to play an entire game. But I showed him the basics and off we went.
This was a difficult game: I wanted to show him how to consider his options, and to think ahead about the next several moves. In the back of my head, I'm wondering: do I let him win? I was filled with doubt, and it showed - I unintentionally got myself into bad positions several times, and came out on the losing side of a few exchanges. An hour went by fairly quickly, but his interest was beginning to wane. I checked him twice, and then showed how a series of turns could eventually lead to a checkmate.
"You know," I told him, "When I was a kid, my dad taught me how to play chess -"
He didn't look up from the board. "And he never let you win, yeah."
In the end, Quinn said he had had enough of chess, so I showed him how to retire; I think he got a kick out of knocking his own king over. His mother and I told him that we were still very proud of him - neither of us had been playing chess at his age.
We put the pieces away, and were about to head upstairs and get ready for bed, when he stopped and held out his hand. "Good game," he said, and we shook hands.
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As for the baseball game, I made the catch, and tagged him out. Now that I think about it, I think he slowed down when he got close to the base, just to throw me a bone. He probably figured I'd be disappointed if I didn't get the out.
