Seeing the Edge with NW Marketing Guy - Rod Brooks

As the season was ramping up, Cindy and I scheduled a weekend trip to Utah in order to visit the family and attend a three game tournament that the Mustangs were scheduled to play in. The weather was fine enough... just a chilly breeze mixed into into the bright spring sunshine. And yet the tournament would be cancelled. As luck would have it, there weren't enough teams registered for the event. There would be no games to play or watch while we were in town.

So what do ballplayers do when games are cancelled. They play ball of course! They play catch in backyard and take batting practice at the park. Easton's coaches organized a team practice and Grandpa Brooks was invited to watch the boys workout. I even got to stand out in right field and shag balls that were occasionally hit my way. (Someting that reminded me of my own little league days in the loneliest corner of the ballpark. But that's a story for another time).

Each time Easton came to the plate or ran the bases I felt a surge of pride that was reminiscent of times when Easton's dad and uncles were the players on their teams. But unlike the many practices and games that I missed for my own boys, Easton's dad was very present. Ryan threw pitch after pitch to player after player. Encouraging them and coaching them with the same positive tone in his voice. I didn't think I could be any prouder on that day too. But I was wrong again.

As the season continued, the Herriman Mustangs had far more wins than losses. On many nights - after another game concluded - I'd receive a call or text from Easton to fill me in on the details. Whether they won or lost his calls and messages were equally enjoyable for me. Easton seldom lost sight of the the fun in the game. There was the night he pitched for all but one inning and allowed just two hits while striking out ten of the batters he faced. On another occasion he came just inches away from his first over-the-fence home run. Night after night Easton's post game accounts would be a highlight of my day. I'm sure my pride was showing on those nights too.

Last week was the final league tournament of the season. This was the big one. The one that counted more than all the rest. "Guess what Grandpa," Easton shouted into the phone. "If we win all our games we'll get championship rings!" His excitement about the prospect of earning this recognized symbol of success was clearly present in his voice. And then, nearly as quickly, the disappointment came.

In a double elimination tournament, the Mustangs lost their first game 9-8. They competed against the leagues regular season third-place team and gave them all they could handle. But a loss is a loss. Tough for players at any age and especially hard for nine-year-olds who have their eyes squarely focused on winning a ring.

Now the journey to a championship would have to go the longer and harder route. Ultimately, they would play five more games in the tournament, with two of them them being repeat games against the highly regarded Trinity team. Trinity, the leagues first place team at the end of the regular season, was a very accomplished team made up of boys from across the greater Salt Lake valley. Each time the two teams played, the Mustang's prevailed with a win. Easton contributed on the mound, in the field and at the plate. And yet it was all about the team and his teammates when we visited after the game.

As the final tournament game was being played, Ryan was texting me updates every inning or two. The Mustangs started out with a 4-0 lead that grew to 7-1 in the third inning. Several minutes passed before I learned that a Trinity batter finally caught up with Easton's fast ball and sent it over the outfield wall for a three run homer. Deflated but not defeated, the Mustangs were now down by one run in the top of the fifth and final inning. If they didn't score in their half of the inning, the game and hopes for a ring would be over. How would they respond?

In just a few minutes I received the answer. The team had rallied back and scored the two runs that were needed to win the game. Now it was time to celebrate. And still it wasn't the moment I was most proud of.

There are lots of miles between Sammamish, Washington and Herriman, Utah. So many that the distance, along with that cancelled early-season tournament, made it so that I wouldn't get to see Easton play in a single game. And still, I saw him perform what I will long consider and remember to be the moment of the season when I was most proud of him.

It came at the end of the practice I attended back in early April. While most of the players were leaving and the equipment was being gathered to be put away, I saw something I'll never forget. I like to think of it of it as Easton's edge.

Before heading for home, Easton returned from the dugout and went to each of his coaches. One at a time he looked them in the eye, extended his hand to shake theirs, and thanked his coaches for a good practice and for being there for him and his teammates. It was a sign of his developing character and the respect he has for those who made it possible for him to be a part of the team. 

And it was something more as well. 

What I saw in that handshake was a symbol of remarkable parenting and the behavior of a respectful child. It"s true. Rings, championships, and trophies are all symbols of success. But the respect and gratitude expressed by my grandson in that short yet purposeful player to coach handshake is the moment I'll long remember. 

It was the highlight of the season and the time when I was most right about feeling proud!

Congratulations Mustangs!