Mel joins the club

Mel (the name Melissa is known by on softball fields around Las Vegas and other locations across the West) has been playing baseball or softball since she was five years old. Many years she has played more than 100 games. And in all that time there is one thing she has never done: hit a home run over a fence.

Until Saturday, that is.

She has hit home runs before, long shots in big ballparks that gave her time to race around the bases. As she’s gotten older, she’s also blasted some past outfielders on oversized men’s fields, but fast outfielders with strong arms have been able to hold her to doubles and triples.

Recently the power surge has been more evident. She started the high school season with a long fly that hit the top of the fence in St. George (she went “Manny” on that one, admiring the hit that she was sure was out, only to have to turn on the jets and slide into second base for a close double, something we’ve seen Manny Ramirez do many times).

She has also taken her fair share of good-natured harassment from Colin, who at 12 years old hit his first over-the-fence homer several weeks ago – a horrifying act of unfairness, in her eyes.

On Saturday, Mel’s team was playing in the Gold division of the huge Las Vegas Jr. Olympic tournament (Gold is the highest level of softball before college). In her first game, she hit a ball off the fence for a stand-up double. Jason was coaching at another field and missed the near-miss (he was out of town for work when Colin went yard, staying up until 1 a.m. Eastern Time so he could at least talk to Colin about it; missing Mel’s would have been supremely unfair).

Jason arrived in time for her second game and joined Yvonne and the boys. The opponent was a southern California team whose pitcher threw heat – she had been clocked as the fastest pitcher in the tournament during a clinic the day before: 69 miles an hour (at 43 feet, that provides about the same reaction time as a baseball batter would have with a 97 mile-per-hour pitch from 60-feet, 6-inches).

With a runner on third and one out, Melissa stepped to the plate. Jason wondered what pitch she was looking for – it’s a routine she has worked on: going to the plate having already decided what pitch she wants for her first strike. If the pitcher throws what she guessed, she's ready for it and swings with all she's got. If the pitcher throws something different, Mel takes the pitch and adjusts from there.

After the game Melissa told us she guessed the pitcher would start with an inside fastball.

As she stepped into the batters box, Melissa signaled time, wiggled her hands, and then was set with the bat coiled above her right shoulder. The pitcher, close to six-feet tall, took a long stride from the rubber, windmilled her right arm, and as her front foot planted, released a wicked inside fastball.

Melissa’s swing was perfect – balanced, smooth, with full extension. The ball exploded off her bat, rocketing to a majestic arc above left field. We were sure it was gone, but we’d been sure before. The left fielder gave chase, but ran out of room. The ball crashed into the rocks beyond the left field wall.

We all went crazy. Melissa was coming into third at full speed, not realizing it was gone until her third base coach said, “Slow down, girl, you hit it out” (one “Manny double,” evidently, was enough for Mel). Her smile as she crossed the plate and high-fived teammates said it all.

As we cheered, one of the parents we’ve known and travelled to ballgames with for years asked us how much that home run would cost us – many parents give their kids money for big hits. After years of paying for registration, equipment, monthly dues, tournaments, and travel, Jason said, “Nothing, we’ve been paying for that home run for years.” We laughed. (Later we joked about that home run being on layaway -- we've been making the monthly payments for a long time and finally got to take it home.)

Colin jogged into the desert beyond left field and found the ball. Once the game was over, we congratulated and hugged Mel. Then Colin welcomed his sister into the club with a smile, and with the ball.

The stud with a fat lip

First, a little background on the boy we call “stud.”

Dylan has spent a lot of time at ballparks since he was a baby, watching his sister and two older brothers play softball and baseball. Since he was in a crib he has loved baseball – loves to watch it, and especially loves to play it.

When he was four years old, he would go to practice when Jason was coaching a rookie ball team with Colin and Carson – then eight and seven. One day while the team was split up into small groups and participating in a variety of drill stations with several dads, one of the dads brought Dylan to Jason. Dylan was crying because he got hit in the leg by a grounder.

Jason told Dylan he couldn’t be running around while the team was practicing its drills. The dad explained to Jason that Dylan wasn’t running around during the drills, he was DOING the drills. Dylan had put himself into one of the groups and did what they did. He got hit in the leg while taking grounders. Jason told Dylan then that if he was going to practice with the big boys, there would be no crying. Dylan wiped away the tears, shook it off, and returned to the drills.

As Dylan practiced with the older boys, the other coaches would tell him “you’re a stud, Dylan,” or “come on stud, make that play.” By the end of the year, when people would ask him what position he played (even though he was still too young to be on a team), he would simply answer, “stud.”

Fast forward to a week ago Monday. Dylan’s team had won its first two playoff games and was practicing for the last time before Tuesday’s championship game. Dylan played a key role in the first two games, with several hits and runs batted in, his usual good fielding, and a save earned by pitching in relief of the last game (he struck out the last two batters to secure the win).

While Dylan practiced with the team on Monday, Yvonne sat in the ballpark’s parking lot, reading. Her book was interrupted by a cell phone call. Dylan, using one of the coach’s cell phones, said calmly, “Um, mom, I need you to come here.”

Yvonne, unalarmed by Dylan’s calm tone, walked over to the practice field only to see Dylan with a bloody towel on his mouth. Minutes earlier the assistant coach hit a hard line drive that Dylan reacted to and got his glove on.

But not all of his glove. The ball glanced off the tip of the webbing and hit Dylan right in the mouth. The shot bloodied his lip, cut the inside of his mouth, and loosened his two front teeth (baby teeth, thank goodness). But Dylan didn’t shed a tear or cry at all. Coaches had him rinse his mouth out and call his mom. After several minutes, still spitting blood, Dylan said he was ok and jogged back to his shortstop position to finish practice. He took more ground balls and played fine, despite his tender top lip.

The next day, in the championship game, Dylan started the game at shortstop and batted lead-off. At a crucial point in the game, his team was clinging to a 2-1 lead but the other team had the bases loaded with two outs and one of their best hitters at the plate. The hitter lifted a fly ball to no man’s land in left-center field. The runners were off and running with the ping of the bat. But Dylan read it perfectly, pivoted to his left and sprinted into shallow left field, then jumped at the last second to catch the ball and end the rally.


That effectively ended the ball game (the opponent would not threaten to score again), and Dylan’s team won the championship despite being the number four seed in the playoffs. Dylan, fat lip and all, looked good with the championship medal around his neck.

Wednesday morning he went to the dentist to get his mouth checked out. The dentist confirmed that it was a hard shot to the mouth, but said there was no permanent damage and the teeth didn’t need to come out until they were ready to fall out on their own. He was impressed that Dylan continued to play – as we all were.

What a stud.

Life on the road

You've probably noticed we've only had one post in over a month.

Besides the normal rapid pace of life, we've also had to deal with Jason's intense travel schedule for work. He has been traveling. Really traveling. As in gone all but 12 days out of the last 40. And he's gone again for the next seven (back to the east coast, then to Reno).

That was part of his deal for his new job: heavy travel now so that he could be home on weekends rather than living on the east coast and seeing the family once a month. This way the kids are able to finish the school year and complete their baseball and softball seasons, go to scout camp, etc. And we are trying to sell a house in Las Vegas and buy a house on the east coast, move across the country, register kids in new schools, etc. It's been tough for all of us, but in the end it will be worth it.

So far Jason has made several trips around the country, including Richland (Wash.), Los Alamos (N.M.), Richmond (Ky.), Seattle, Oak Ridge (Tenn.), and Washington D.C. He even spent a couple days at his office in Frederick, Md. (for all of FOUR days). He's tired, but he's racking up the frequent flier miles and hotel reward points. So I guess he's got that, right?

On one trip to Washington state, he was asked where he lives. His answer: "Hampton Inn."

The people at his table laughed and asked which one. He said, "Most of them."

Yvonne's quick wit

Jason writes:

I was sitting downstairs watching television several weeks ago, when I heard a loud "boom boom boom" behind me. I turned and realized that Yvonne had slipped and fallen down the stairs, sliding down on her butt and landing on the tile kitchen floor.

I ran over to her and saw she was a little rattled, but ok. Figuring there was was a reason she fell, I asked: "Did you miss a stair?"

"No," she said. "I think I got every one."

We both broke into laughter...