'Chris, watch your language'

I have made my season debut in a Waseca Braves uniform–although I’m not sure it can be called a debut considering I haven’t played yet. 

To be honest, the first couple practices and games I attended have served as a chance to brush off six years of rust. It wasn’t until this last game on Sunday that I finally started to feel like a baseball player again. It’s a weird thing, like crawling back into a well worn jacket, or settling into a favorite seat on the couch after a long vacation. 

But boy, I was definitely rusty. Throwing off the mound I pulled a hamstring the second time out in practice. That sucked. It’s still bothering me weeks later. 

I didn’t take a decent round of batting practice until before Sunday’s game when I made some adjustments. The only thing that wasn’t rusty was my fielding. In my high school career, I never once committed an error on a ground ball. My dad hit me 10,000 grounders off the street in front of our home growing up; we always had to end on “a good one,” which meant my dad spent an hour hitting the ball as hard as he could until I felt like I made a play  worthy of the major leagues. 

We also had to do the same thing with a pop up because I enjoyed chasing down a ball in the air too. Oh, and when he was playing catcher for me, I had to end on a 12-6 curveball before we could call it a day. Don’t forget batting practice: We always had to end on a “home run.” 

My dad and I spent an uncountable number of hours together playing baseball. I’m very grateful.

All those days of practice included my dad throwing me thousands of “scoops” or a ball in the dirt, or a “one hopper” in order for me to be able to scoop the ball at first on a low throw. I can safely report, those hours did not go to waste. I can still pick it at first. 

My baseball career started when I was about 7 years old. Dad showed us the movie Field of Dreams and then took us to Iowa for a vacation there. I remember the first time I watched a Twins game on TV: I vividly recall the first time I decided I like playing catch with my dad. 

He was outside playing catch with my older sister Jessica with a softball. I saw that and immediately demanded we play catch, too. Jessica didn’t stick with softball, which was good for me: I got more time with Dad. 

I remember my first hit in little league, a pop-up single to center. My next at-bat I doubled and felt like I was well on my way to the Majors. 

I remember playing catch under the street lights in sixth grade after Dad and I returned from Scheel’s with my brand new first base mitt. I loved that glove. I still bring it with me to games even though I got a new one in high school. I remember picking that first glove out, trying it on and examining every single glove in the store before making my choice. It was perfect. Just like that game of catch under the streetlight. 

There are too many games to relive and retell, so I’ll fast forward to my senior year. 

The year prior I was playing baseball and weighing in around 350lbs. I was very overweight and it was starting to affect my play on the field. So, after my junior year I started working out. By fall baseball, I was down to 300 lbs and I had the best fall baseball season of my career. Before getting hurt with 3 weeks left, I was leading the time in average hitting over .500 while also pitching better than I ever had. 

I missed the last three weeks of that season, but came back healthy in the spring, my senior campaign. I cut down to 270 and was in the best playing condition I had ever been. My senior highlights included finishing with the second-best batting average on our team, a win against the third-ranked team in state (TCU) and an RBI double in our first playoff game (on a 0-2 pitch, too), helping us hold off St. Peter 5-4. I remember Dempsey Tucker recording the final out on the mound as the rain fell with the bases loaded. 

I caught the final out at first base. Words can’t really describe what it felt like. I played my entire season with a pit in my stomach knowing my high school career was coming to an end. That win pushed the pit away for a couple more games. We were the 14 seed and upset the 5 seed. We weren’t supposed to win; if we hadn’t, our season would have been done. 

We lost to the number 1 seed, Belle Plaine, the next game 4-1. I got a couple hits, but it wasn’t enough. In our final game we lost 2-1 at St. James. Jack Schultz threw a no-hitter for us, but walked too many guys. St. James won on a suicide squeeze. 

And just like that, my high school career was over. I’ll never forget what my coaches told us as a team, and me personally after that final game. Coach Ryan Tri reminded us all, I can still hear it clearly. “If this is the saddest moment in your life, think about how blessed your life must be.” 

That actually helped. 

Coach Drew Paukert gave me a hug and told me we wouldn’t have made it to that game if it hadn’t been for me. 

I also remember coach Paukert walking about, seeing the scorebook, and going, Schultz threw a no-hitter. That was another punch in the stomach. Final games are hard. Since then, whenever a sports season comes to an end, I ask every coach what they told the players afterwards. Those conversations with my coaches my senior year are the reason I ask. It’s why I try really, really hard to go to as many games down the stretch of each and every high school season. I haven’t found anything else, anywhere else, any experience anywhere that I can relate to like that. I take pride in putting those emotions, moments, from the field, the court, to words and paper. 

Whenever readers, friends or family say they don’t understand why people like sports it upsets me. I usually smile and nod and say something like, “Wait until you have kids and they go through it.”

There’s nothing like high school sports. 

Oh, this article was supposed to be about the Braves. I’m not going to be writing Braves articles, because I didn’t join the team to work even more overtime. But I will write how we did in this space. 

We defeated one team by quite a bit. Chris Glynn hit a ball over the fence in one game. In his second at bat he did it again but the umpire called it foul. “That was fair as *****!” Chris exclaimed. 

We now have a new team motto that Chris hasn’t heard the end of. 

I thought about whether I should share more insights, but I’m reminded of what happened when Margaret and Emmet Engesser over-shared in the newspaper. It’s why I can’t walk around New Richland without people saying, “I can’t talk to you because it will end up in the paper.” 

So, that said, I will not be sharing all the intimate details of what goes on in the dugout or the clubhouse. Despite how much I would love to do so. 

Like I said, baseball isn’t work and I didn’t sign up for the Braves for that. The only “overtime” I want to put in are those extra innings we got to see Saturday night. 

Also, Tink did a great job umpiring. Blake Nelson asked me if I had my camera, which resulted in a conversation in which I repeated a lot of what I just wrote. He very warmly, completely agreed. 

“Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer.” – Ted Williams

“Baseball is, was, and always will be the best game in the world to me.” – Babe Ruth

“Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.” - Yogi Berra