Chapter 6

Chapter 5


In little league baseball the individual teams are named after professional baseball clubs. This year Tanners team is the Red Sox after New England’s Boston red sox.
The coach of the team is John Pettis. John is a longtime friend, He and his family once lived in the neighborhood. When they moved across town it left a vacuum that was never refilled. Always maxing out on life he constantly involves himself in various forms of activity. Being a habitual doer and giver he Selflessly volunteers his precious time and talents to numberless community causes.
John Is one of those rare people who naturally gravitate people toward him. Enthusiastic, purposely positive and ultra dependable, in a time of moral murkiness John is a beacon of hope.
About 6 ft tall with a slim athletic build his rugged chin and wire rim glasses perfectly frame a infectious grin. Five years ago John and I enlisted into the local volunteer fire department. Joining the department together we developed a fraternal bond that quickly extended beyond fire and rescue.
As a baseball coach John truly excels, Each practice and game he devotedly treats the boy’s as he would his own. His loving encouragement combined with an intimate knowledge of baseball created the perfect atmosphere for learning. With this marriage of encouragement and experience he helped the boys quickly grasp the basics of Americas past time.
John is also part of the local little league organizational board. In that pungent den of mangy malcontents John saved Tanner from the ravenous wolves of baseball hell.
At the beginning of each virgin season the board meet to elect new officers and recruit qualified and willing coaches. Once this preliminary chore was completed a try out date for the eager youngsters was agreed upon.
When the big day arrived Tanner began to wither. I could see it in his disposition as he nervously gaited from the car to the practice field.
Watching him I wished to God that I could take his place. That It was me being constantly bombarded with not so silent whisperings. That the stabbing words from hateful tongues and thoughtless lips would pierce my heart not his.
Yet once again I was completely helpless. Assigned the back seat as he drives through life solo, the most I could do now was watch and pray.
Pausing momentarily Tanner turned his head in my direction. I am unsure if he sought fortifying reassurance of himself or to assure my frazzled nerves. Nevertheless finding my eyes the corners of his mouth turned up and my soul was buoyed.
Realigning his glance toward the field, he scrambled off joining the swelling mass of wide eyed young men. I chuckled to myself as I watched the gathering swarm, each boy purposely Strutting his stuff as he warmed up. Occasionally vainly Gawking over their shoulders to see if they had caught the gaze of a clip board toting coaches.
Leaving the car I secluded myself within the shade of a towering elm. Leaning against the aging giant i watched as John huddled with the other coaches. Then breaking their conference they proceeded to test the skill of each boy by putting them through a series of basic baseball maneuvers.
Though they tried unsuccessfully to mask their glee it was evident the coaches secretly marveled at the athletic prowess of a few gifted youngsters. Then sorting through the remaining boys like a pan hander sifting river sand for gold they jotted notes and graded each boys performance.
When the last fast ball slapped leather, pop fly was corralled and line drive thudded into afternoon shadows the boys trudged off from whence they came. Each I am sure, innocently carrying with them secret dreams of stardom.
The coaches, heads in their clip boards carefully reviewed the marks they placed next to the names of each boy. To me it seemed they were Cleverly attempting to turn simple school yard pick-me into some sort of algebraic equation.
Tanner hindered by the omni-present beast Had performed each skill awkwardly yet in my mind adequately. However, In the end found himself languishing on the bottom of each coaches wish list.
Trudging off the field he quietly slipped into the passenger seat of the car. Having retreated before him now I studied his withdrawn domineer. He was very subdued, gone was the encouraging smile and hopeful veneer, Replaced by heavy silence I was not sure what it meant.
After several days I received a phone call from John. His tone was low and uncharacteristically jaded. After a protracted pause he began to erupt releasing his thoughts like air from a overfilled balloon.
His words stung as they hissed into my ears. It was hard to believe they could actually be true. But the rising elevation of his speech squashed any real doubt.
Apparently the aspirating tutors (coaches) and the organizational board had met earlier that afternoon. It all began with a friendly hand shake and polite greeting. After tenuous evaluating and prioritizing they commenced drafting of boys to their teams. It was unanimously agreed that each coach would begin by choosing one player. Once this initial pick was completed the process would repeat itself until all the boys had been drafted.
John explained that the first boys chosen were those thought truly special. who’s exceptional athletic ability seemed to exceed their childish years. Among the coaches, Their names were spoken with a sort of reverence befitting someone or something of greater stature. Civility quickly eroding and Perspective blurred as the draft proceeded into the next phase. With the names of the anointed few now off the table. The coaches carefully waded through the great sea of average. Soon that vast throng of young men was also depleted. Leaving one solitary boy, one scrap of paper with the letters T-A-N-N-E-R scribbled upon it. The last pick fell upon Mark Jackson, His face reddened as the eyes of the group fell on him.
The once lighthearted joking quickly subsided as Mark began questioning why he should be forced to draft tanner. His inquisitive banter continued as he probed Tanners abilities and inquired whether he should even be allowed to participate. These explosive incendiary words nearly incited a backyard brawl as Johns blood began to boil. Mark resumed his provocative comments suggesting he had some how been bamboozled. Remarking that the other coaches statically rigged the draft so Tanners lot would fall with him.
John’s raw emotions began to overtake him, The usually vibrant voice on the phone sputtered then grew quiet. I could feel the pain in his extended pause. I clearly recalled his fraught words but my mind refused to believe them. Like steely knives each one gouged and tore until my soul was utterly shredded.
Clearing his throat John began where he had left off. Though disgusted and angry over the unexpected events that transpired John sought for reason among the group. Bordering on begging, he pleaded with the men to soften their hearts. None would, each man adamantly refused, rebuffing Johns efforts to resolve the impasse.
Sportsmanship at it worst was repulsively on display. In skirmishing over who would be forced to pick my son they inexplicably abandoned charity for something far less of value.
Cringing at the sickening display of immature bastards posing as men John’s fury could no longer be contained. Carefully scanning their hardened faces he lifted up from the chair. Face to face he Scathingly swore an oath before them. In his wrathful pledge he Promised Tanner, my brave boy who did nothing to these men. Despite the beast who relentlessly dogs him he sought Nothing, Nothing except a fiery desire to be like their own young sons. No conspiracy existed, no trickery had been contrived, he only wanted to play. To play baseball.
In his firm decree John vehemently vowed for long as he was able to coach. Tanner, regardless of his inequities would play for no team but his own.
John was silent again as was I. Though Personally offended to a degree I thought not possible, desperately I tried to understand. These men were not savages nor neophytes. They must know of the injurious nature of their remarks. Was it possible that in their egocentric way of thinking winning trumped humanity.
Wounds such as these heal eventually. The bitter pain eases and soon is forgotten. But the scar remains and serves as a reminder. A token of the trauma wrought upon my tender seed by a sadistic gathering of pitiless men.