"Part time warm up partner, part time pitching machine, part time baseball critic and full time dad.”
Although my kids are scattered, my Father’s Day tradition continued this past Sunday. My son’s early morning call from Ecuador caught me in the car. My daughter’s call from Oregon came while icing down.
In between my Father’s Day calls, I pitched five innings, playing the game I love.
Most of us out there are fathers. A couple had the awesome pleasure of playing with their sons and hearing “Great play, Dad!”
As I watched the father-son combos, memories emerged of the joy of being that “part time” partner. Throwing BP, hitting fungo with Greg, working off the batting tee with Erin. All those things a dad does.
And then another memory popped up.
It wasn’t long after I started playing with Dodgertown West. I was asked to play in a regional tournament and we were having a practice game. Short on players, I asked my son to come out and play.
He hadn’t picked up a bat or glove in several years and was a bit hesitant. But after a little prodding, he agreed and we dug out his old glove and cleats.
Once at the field, a couple of the guys asked if he could play. I assured them that he could, he just needed one or two plays to get the muscle memory to kick in. I was right. A fly to center and the throw to second was all it took.
As the game went on, I realized that this would be the first time that I played against my son and, if the batting order was right, I’d actually be pitching to him for at least one at-bat.
It was inning 5 when the gods thought it would be fun to see the matchup. There was one out and no one on base when father faced son in “true” competition.
This was no longer batting practice. It might have been a practice game, but this father-son matchup was for real.
I could hear the jibes behind me. “Yeah, right, Mark. It’s your kid.” “Don’t go easy on him.” “Come on Greg, rip the old man!”
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
This 50 year-old father against his 20-something son.
The first pitch was a fastball for a called strike.
Next pitch, another fastball up and in and I get a scowl – he remembered all the many times I plunked him during batting practice as a kid.
Next pitch, swing and miss on a curve.
So the old man is up 1 and 2, and now the mental game shifts into overdrive.
I’m thinking that he’s thinking that, with 2 strikes and after whiffing a curve, it’s going to be another curve, right?
But, if he knows that I know that he knows…No, let’s give him the heat!
I rear back, let fire, and then I hear it.
That ping of the metal bat – let it be noted that he was using metal not wood! – and out it goes over the left center fence.
As he rounds the bases in a self-satisfied trot, the jibes start again . . . “Stone, you laid it in there for him.”
“No, really,” I counter. “He knows I wouldn’t do that.”
The kid got the old man this time. I want a rematch.
He joined us in fantasy camp in ’14 but didn’t play. He was there again in ’21 but we were at a 120-camper maximum.
One day I’ll get him in a uniform again and this time, we’ll play together – or against each other.
I can’t wait.
So, don’t you wait! Join us for Fantasy Camp, and bring your son, daughter or whole family along.
We’ve had many family groups, small and large, at camp and it makes the camaraderie and baseball experience better for everyone involved.
Reach out today for a quote on one of our family packages!
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