The curveball is known as the hardest pitch to hit at any level. Whether it's Cliff Lee's 12-6 curveball, Tim Wakefield's knuckle curve, or the eighth grader just learning how to throw it, it's a tough ball to hit.
The perfect curveball comes after a fastball. The speed change, along with the movement, can mess up even the best batters in the game. The curveball's that have been thrown my way in life have mostly been swings and misses, but I have found that the best therapy is the world of sports.
In fourth grade, I started my first year of football. I played for "Coach T" on the Pirates, and was bigger and stronger than most of the guys on my team, but was, in all honesty, probably the softest kid out there. My mom loved me playing, as she's as big of a sports fan as I was, and she showed it by sitting at every practice watching from the car. I'll never forget one day after practice, getting into her car and her saying "Why were you taking it easy on that kid in your blocking drills?"
My response makes her laugh every time, even when we talk about it 10 years later.
The kid I was going against was half of my size, and probably weighed 70 pounds soaking wet, after dinner. I looked at my mom and said "I kept getting into my stance thinking I was going to beat him, but everytime I looked up, he always looked so sad."
Once her hysterical laughter died down, she told me that it doesn't matter who is across from me, I need to always go 100%, because not only will it make me better, but it will make him better. I've always looked at that as something I can apply to anything.
This helped a lot in high school. I started on the JV offensive line as a sophomore, and instead of looking across at the 70 pound kid, I was looking across at 270 pound all district defensive lineman. I still always tried to go full speed, and a few headaches and broken chinstraps later, it paid off, because I became one of those all district lineman.
But everything goes back to that year of football in fourth grade. Not only did that whole hilarious situation happen, but that was also the fall when my parents got divorced. My dad stayed with a friend for awhile, and missed some of my football games (this rarely happens; my dad probably hasn't missed a game since my fourth grade football year, and never missed one before it.) I was really upset about it, and everyone could tell.
That's when "Coach T" stepped in, and pulled me aside during practice. Coach T had been coaching pee-wee football forever, and knew what he was doing. He looked at me and said "Do you think your dad wants you being sad about him not being here, or do you think he wants you to go out there and kick some butt, and show that you're the best on the field?"
I'll never forget that conversation. I replied with "Well..." and that's as far as I got before Coach T's southern drawl took over. "You're a player, take over the field, no one out here can do it but you."
It's amazing what sticks with a fourth grade kid. I still live by what I learned in those two situations every day, and they happened 10 years ago. That's what sports has taught me, to take over and give everything my all. I've learned that the only thing limiting me on being the best at something is me. Once someone has overcome their limitations, they can be the best at math, cheerleading, competitive eating (a dream of mine), or whatever they put their mind to.
This post is a bit off the path I've taken on this blog, but hopefully this opens eyes on the people who haven't ever had the opportunity to play a sport, and helps them understand why people tailgate before games, and dedicate entire days to their favorite team just because they play that day.
In summary: Show this to your wife, hopefully she'll understand the big screen and surround sound.
Next Update: My experience at the ALCS game, Yankees @ Rangers.
GO RANGERS!
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