Little League's Lessons

By Mark  Hendricks
    Patrick’s was a good team that year. Three or four star players. Several more who, like Patrick, were solid, steady and took well to good coaching. The brightest star on the team was Kevin. He could play any position. His glove was a vacuum cleaner on defense. On the mound, he threw nothing but strikes. He was a terrific hitter with a beautiful swing. And on the base paths, he was simply the fastest kid in the city. Kevin won ballgames for us that year. Several, in fact.
    Kevin had only one bad game all year. That was the same night Patrick had perhaps his best game ever. Patrick’s stars were aligned that night. The kid was everywhere. He was playing first and there were two on and two out. The batter hit a screaming liner well over his head, but ol’ Patrick’s cleats musta had wings that night. Michael Jordan in his prime may not have been able to get up for that ball, but, somehow, Patrick did. When he came down, he looked in his glove in disbelief. The ball was there. On the way to the dugout, his teammates whacked his butt, punched his shoulder, smacked the back of his head.
Jeez, it must hurt to be a star, I thought.

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