The Winning Game

The Winning Game
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On a hot, sunny afternoon, a small boy stepped up to bat.
The crowd watched like hawks for his move, waiting for the
sought-after home run that most likely wasn't to be.

After all, these kids were five and six years old, much too
little to stroke a ball past the pitcher, if at all.

The little guy's determination showed in his stance: gritted
teeth, slightly bulging eyes, hat-clad head bobbing slightly,
feet apart, hands with a death grip on the bat.

In front of him was a small softball, sitting perched like a
parrot on a lone tee, awaiting the six swings that the batter
was allowed.

Strike one.

"Come on, you can do it!" came a solitary voice out of the
bleachers.

Strike two.

"Go for it, Son!" the proud father yelled encouragingly.

Strike three.

"Go, go, go..." the crowd joined in.

Strike four.

"You can do it!" just the father and a couple of viewers
crooned, others losing interest and turning to bleacher
conversations.

"YOU CAN DO IT!" And suddenly bat hit ball, amazing the crowd
and the little boy, who stood rock still, watching it travel
slowly past the pitcher on its way to second base.

"Run!"

The stands rumbled with stomping feet. "Run, run!"
The little boy's head jerked ever so slightly and he took off
toward third base.

"No," the crowd yelled.

"The other way."

With a slight cast of his head toward the bleachers, the boy
turned back toward home.

"NO!" My son, the umpire, waved him toward first base.
The kids on both teams pointed the way. The crowd continued to
cheer him on. Confused, he ran back to third.

Then following the third baseman's frantic directions, he
finally ran toward first base but stopped triumphantly on the
pitcher's mound. The pitcher moved back, not sure what to do
next.

The crowd stood, shaking the bleachers with the momentum.
All arms waved toward first base. And with no thought for his
position, the first baseman dropped his ball and ran toward the
pitcher.

"Come on," he yelled, grabbing the hand of the errant batter,
and tugged him toward first base while the crowd screamed its
approval.

The ball lay forgotten as a triumphant twosome hugged each other
on the piece of square plastic that marked the spot where lives
are forever shaped.

No one will remember the score of that summer afternoon game.

Two little boys, running hand in hand, toward a goal that only
one should have reached.

Both came out winners.

In fact, there wasn't a loser in the stands or on the field that
summer day, and that's a lesson none of us should ever forget.

Winning is more than being number one.

Winning is helping another when the chips are down.

It's remembering to love one another.

We are all in this together,
God Bless ,
Jan bagwell