To Every Season Comes an End

This week, I want to break away from my normal history and political writing and talk about endings. Most associate spring with beginnings, but for those with high school seniors, especially ones in spring sports, this is a season of endings.

For my senior baseball player, it seems like I am counting down all the many lasts, not only for him but for me as he is my youngest child. His last home game, his last at bat, his last stolen base, his last run and finally his last game. It’s not just my son that I am watching either, it’s the six seniors who play together for the Chickasha Fightin’ Chicks, five of whom have played together for four years and some even longer.

While it may seem strange to my Southwest Ledger readers to write about these boys, it is not out of my comfort zone. I have blogged about this team for six years following this senior class from middle school to now. As parents across the nation are experiencing the same feelings, I thought I would share some of mine.

My favorite baseball movie is “Field of Dreams.” While it’s about baseball, it’s also a little bit about faith, a little bit about family, a little bit about redemption, and a little bit about dreams. This past week the Fightin’ Chicks’ dreams did not come true as they lost in the state tournament for the second year in a row. We knew it would be hard, but we hoped it would be possible.

“Field of Dreams” is different than any other sports movie as it has a bit of mystic, of magic, of the unknown, but that is what makes it great. That is also what makes baseball magical. Baseball is a slow game with lots of twists and turns. It makes it perfect for writing stories.

There is a reason most of the greatest sports movies are about baseball: the other sports are too fast. There is also something about the game’s history. It’s the oldest of the big four today with so many memories of bygone athletes: Babe Ruth, Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio. It’s the game with possibly the most important story in all sport, when Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier and played for the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Baseball stadiums are like temples — places where patrons go to worship the game. I know several people who have goals to visit every MLB stadium; I have never heard that before with NFL or NBA.

I have come to feel that way about Chickasha’s stadium. For the past six years I have sat in the same exact seat behind home plate right under the announcer’s box. You can count on two hands how many games I have missed during those years. Nothing has brought me as much joy as watching my son and his friends play this game.

I’ll admit I had never been a baseball fan growing up. Growing up in Virginia, in high school I played football, basketball and lacrosse. Lacrosse was huge there. I had always found baseball boring. Yet from the first time my son picked up a bat and played in his first game I knew he was hooked, and it would become part of my life. I have learned to love the sport and to watch him playing it. When he first joined Chickasha in 6th grade, and through his freshman year, he was a second baseman—and a good one. But then in his sophomore year, the outfielders graduated. Because of  Jackson’s speed, he joined the varsity squad out where they catch the deep balls. He is perfect for the outfield. I always say he glides more than he runs. Nothing has been more fun than thinking a foul ball is too far gone only to have him suddenly get under it for an out. The only thing better is watching him steal second and then glide towards third on the next play, turn the corner for home and slide in under the tag. Its like watching poetry.

Sitting in my seat all those years I have watched these boys’ lives pass by almost like watching a movie. This field is no longer ordinary for me. It’s no normal patch of chalk and grass. Instead, it’s a place for memories of these boys becoming men. It’s here that they learned about brotherhood. It’s here that they learned to slide and hit. But, most importantly, it’s where they learned to fall and get back up again.

In 2008 Randy Pausch wrote a book called “The Last Lecture.” Several universities have last lectures for retiring professor where they can impart wisdom on younger faculty and students. This particular last lecture was different as Pausch was leaving his position because he was recently diagnosed with cancer and told he only had a few months to live. Because of the circumstance and Pausch’s message his lecture turned into a book. One of his most famous lines is, “We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.”

The Chicks came up against a tough team and despite their best efforts, victory was just out of reach. However, it’s not about the outcome; it’s about how we respond to adversity. Pausch wrote, “Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.” This loss may sting now, but it’s an experience that will only make you stronger, more resilient.

The best part of “Field of Dreams” is the very end when main character Ray talks to his dad John. John asked, “Is this heaven?” to which Ray gives the famous line, “It’s Iowa.” Ray then asked a poignant question, “Is there a heaven?” To which John answered, “Oh yeah. It’s the place where dreams come true.” Ray then looked at his family and said, “Maybe this is heaven.”

That’s how I’ve felt these last six years, like I was in heaven. I watched Jackson and these boys grow.

I am going to miss all this so much as they all leave to fulfill new dreams, most of which have nothing to do with baseball. Then there is the very last line that means so much more to me now, “You wanna have a catch?” Looking back now I think my favorite part of all of this were those morning starting in elementary school when we waited for the bus in the front yard and played catch. That is what I will miss the most.

James Finck is a professor of American history at the University of Science and Arts of Oklahoma. He can be reached at HistoricallySpeaking1776@gmail.com.