RMJ 208 September 11

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11 ● Gala Day ● Houston

I slept well and woke up refreshed. Then I read the paper. Hudek ripped me for not using him more.

I guess I should have expected it, after what he told me on the airplane. I’m not too worried about it, though.

I remember when I started my first game at winter ball in 1967. It had been five months since I had pitched in a game. I threw seven shutout innings.

Later that winter, in February, Mike Cuellar came down for the playoffs and tossed a complete-game shutout on long rest: four months.  If you can pitch, you can pitch — on long rest and short rest.  If you can’t, you are liable to get long rest — even during the season.

 

I picked up Ryan from school, and we went to the driving range. On the way home, I asked him about his baseball tournament last weekend, knowing from a phone conversation with Judy that he had done well.

“Tell me about the games Sunday,” I said.

“I got to pitch in both games,” he said. “But only four innings in the second game, because they only let you pitch six innings in a day.”

“So you pitched two innings in the first game?”

“Yeah. Coach brought me in with a 2-0 count on the hitter and runners on first and second. We had a 5-1 lead. The first guy, I walked. Then the next guy hit it back to me, and we got a double play.”

“Home to first?”

“Yeah, home to first.”

“What about the next inning?”

“They got a run off me in the next inning, but we won.”

“So now you are in the final game?”

“Yeah, and we played the Stars [his former team].”

“The Stars were in the tournament?

“Yep, I pitched against them in the finals.”

“Boy, I bet you were nervous.”

“Not that bad.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I beat them 4-1 and struck out seven guys.”

“You did?”

“Yep. And the run was unearned.”

“Boy, I bet you were fired up about that.”

“It wasn’t that hard. I mostly just threw curve balls. Probably more than half the time. They can’t hit a curve.”

“Were they mad at you?”

“Not really. They were watching our first game, and they cheered for me. Then when I got my trophy, they cheered for me again. It was pretty cool.”

“I bet it was. They probably wish you were still on their team.”

“Yep.”

Ryan had made friends with the boys on the Stars, and Judy with their parents. It was a good situation, except for the driving-distance/playing-time issue. They left on good terms, and according to Judy, when he won the game they were almost as happy for him as he was for himself. This is the way youth sports should be. But I would guess that it is more the exception than the rule.

Judy mentioned that she thought Ryan’s practice against a tarp I had set up in the backyard with the strike zone painted on it was the reason he had such good control. That made me feel real good.

About a week ago, she told me he was growing tired of practicing. I suggested that she go out with him and keep track of the balls and strikes.

“That seemed to make him concentrate,” she said. “Each day, he tried to beat what he had done the day before.”

There is no substitute for practice. But practicing by yourself takes a lot of dedication — especially when you are young, and your friends across the street are playing Nintendo.

 

Our friends, the Greifs, roared in from Austin about 6:00. We had to throw on our formal wear and head to the Dome.

I was well pleased with my new tuxedo. It is double-breasted so that I don’t have to wear a cummerbund. The way I am built, cummerbunds slowly slide down to my hips. I am constantly pulling them up. Now I am comfortable — at least, as comfortable as you can be in a tux.

Jordan Greif is 10 years old. He is a big Astros fan. Part of his birthday present was the Gala. He looked handsome in his tuxedo. Judy’s friend Loraine York was with us as well.

When we got there, we joined Ashley and Craig, Sharon and Chris, Julia and Chris, and several other couples. We solved our table problem easily: I sat at one table and Judy at the other. Then we switched places for dessert.

We did a little dancing; not as much as last year, as it was “getting late early” as Yogi Berra used to say.

On the way home, Jordan was effervescent.

“I got all the Killer Bees, except Derek Bell,” he said. “If I get him and Larry, I’ll have the whole team.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure of that you get those last two,” I said. “I’ll take care of the Larry part when we get home. Larry will probably be the toughest one to get.”

“I just want to thank you for asking me to come tonight,” he said. “I really, really had a good time.” He was fired up, despite the late hour. It was 11:45 when we got home.

“In fifteen minutes, I’ll be 11,” he said, as we prepared him a pallet on the floor.

“I guess you might want to stay up for that.” Karen suggested.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

“This is one day I’ll never forget,” Jordan proclaimed.

It was one I’ll never forget, either. When I think about the magic in a child’s eye — Ryan’s pitching, Jordan’s big night — I get a better perspective on what we are doing here.

I know it is important that we win the division. But there is nothing more important than the children.