Sean

[gurdonark]

After I finished Little League, I advanced up to Junior Babe Ruth league. I'm one of those people who is neither great nor awful at sports. In baseball, my first year in a given league was marked by extreme mediocrity; my second year by basic ability; and by my third year, I was actually pretty good. Never mind that I was a right fielder because my throwing arm was not particularly good; let's not talk in this post about my one start as a Little League pitcher. Let's talk about my first year in Junior Babe Ruth League, the league for 13 and 14 year olds.

My first year in Babe Ruth was easily my worst year of baseball. I did not get to play very much, which, speaking in my adult voice now, seems to me to be extremely wrong. I now believe in participation above talent, and if Atlas therefore feels he must shrug, then I will do my best to catch the world as it falls.

But this story is not really about me. It's about another kid.
Sean was 13, just as I was. He had moved to our little town from godknowswhere; if I remember correctly, his father may have been in the military, perhaps his parents divorced, perhaps a grandparent was in loco parentis--I don't remember the details. He was one of those hordes of kids with whom I grew up, who seemed to appear at our school for a year or two, live their parts in the great tapestry which was our small town, and then disappear to parts I do not know.

Sean was a very small kid, rather like the fellow in the John Irving novel, one of the bespectacled, essentially decent good-hearted kids who ride the benches of sports teams and play seventh trumpet in marching bands all across the country. As I cast back through my memory, I do not know how I knew this, but I knew in my heart that Sean had heart. Some kids just have heart, you know--they just do.

I ordinarily wouldn't think that Sean's tale was unique--after all, in group activities everywhere, the Seans of the world are legion, not excelling, but always trying. But in addition to his extremely diminutive size, Sean brought another challenge to baseball. In one knee, Sean lacked a kneecap. He walked with a discernible effort, and he had a bit of trouble actually running at all. This is an issue in a sport such as baseball, in which outfielders (and, by the way, all lesser players in juvenile leagues play outfield) run to catch fly balls and whizzing basehit grounders.

There was nothing maudlin or movie of the week about Sean. Nobody stopped and said "that little fellow tries his heart out" or made comments as if they wished to bar Sean from any reindeer games. Sean just hit the field, did his best at practice, and did not get to play in games at all. I do not remember that he ever complained. I do not remember that he ever really fit in. He was there, as I and many others, really, often were, just there.

One game,though, an odd thing happened. Our team was down a bit, but the bases were loaded. Two outs had been made against our team, so one more out and the game was over. All we needed was for someone to get a walk and we would score a run and tie the game.

The coach, a kind-hearted fellow who was nonetheless immune to the idea of letting kids who merely try but don't succeed play, had a brain wave. Sean was so short that he would be nearly impossible to pitch to successfully. The coach put Sean in as a pinch hitter. Sean was going to keep "taking" (i.e., not swinging) at pitches until Sean was walked. The other team would never be able to throw strikes to Sean, whose strike zone was truly small.

The plan began well. The opposing pitcher missed Sean's strike zone--ball one. But then on the second pitch, Sean swung at the pitch. This was not according to plan--the pitch was very high, and should have been a ball. Sean would have been halfway to
his walk. We would have been halfway to the tie. Sean had one ball and one strike. The next pitch was a ball. The plan seemed back on track. But on the very next pitch, contrary to the plan, Sean again swung. Sean swung hard and he hit the ball.

The ball rolled off Sean's bat and dribbled on the ground in the infield. Sean began to run, and the other base runners began to run. It was not close. Sean was thrown out at first base by the opposing infielders. The game was lost.

Nobody blamed Sean. Nobody said anything. The man had gotten only a single at bats. He got to play in exactly one play the entire damn summer. Sean didn't come to our school but for a year or two more. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know where he is now.

I think of Sean, and I feel a pain. I feel a pain for people who try really hard. I feel a pain for people who wish they could fit in, but never do. But most of all, I feel a pain, because on some levels, Sean fit into my idea of life as it could be lived, and the rest of our team did not. Damned game. Damned coach. Damned winning and losing. Damned, damned, all damned. I wonder what became of Sean.

Comments

[twiceuponatime.livejournal.com]

Thank you for introducing me to Sean. My heart is beating out of my chest for him. And for you.

Your vivid telling makes the term "beloved" run through my veins.

Even if it is thirty years later, he is now a hero in my mind.

[the-outsider.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad Sean didn't live where I grew up. He undoubtedly would have been bullied and tormented endlessly. And he probably would have gotten beaten up for losing the game. I knew kids in my school who would say how they hoped to drive someone to suicide. They never were successful but one kid attempted it and ended up in a hopsital for a month. A girl who had attempted suicide for other reasons was teased mercilessly, and people would always say to her "Go kill yourselef" after the suicide attempt. Several kids transferred to other schools to avoid this sort of thing. And people wonder why I have such a negative opinion about human nature...

[gurdonark.livejournal.com]

Thanks for such kind words. I hadn't thought of him in years and years, until yesterday.

[gurdonark.livejournal.com]

While our little town had its share of negatives, and some kids could be teased, in general, I think we were much more accepting of diversity in some ways, and much less inclined to be truly cruel. I can think of one palpable exception, when people didn't realize that horribly rude woman was rude because she suffered from very severe depression, but in general, I think that the community had a protective function, accepting people who might not have been accepted elsewhere. I focus lately on why that is--what is that quality? The nearest I can come at it is that it's when a group of people assume they have a common interest in living together, but that's too vague to extract much lesson from.

I am negative about human nature sometimes, too, but remain positive about my own role, because I see it as my purpose in life to fight against such cruelty.

[gregwest98.livejournal.com]

Damned game indeed. We never seem to play games as they should be played. These days, they say that participation is the key - not the outcome - but it doesn't always work out that way. Still, I guess we're making progress in some ways.

My daughter had one coach that would make sure everyone played, would order the high-scorers to hold back or only shoot with their 'other' foot, or take them out completely so that the rest of the girls could have a chance to score. He was the one glittering exception.

[gurdonark.livejournal.com]

It is a bit better now, when leagues at least advertise that they are "competitive" or "everyone plays".

I played a lot of baseball, though, and sometimes I wonder why.

[poetbear.livejournal.com]

that quality is 'community'. it is one of
the most important qualities that we can
cultivate in society, because it serves all
of us, and each individual at the same time.
that's the reason that i value LJ so much. i
believe that it encourages the kind of dialogue
that helps us to build community.

[gurdonark.livejournal.com]

Thanks for commenting. I'm a firm believer in that community stuff.

Re:

[poetbear.livejournal.com]

yup
it's the only thing
that'll save us
Paul

Re:

[poetbear.livejournal.com]

maybe i posted this already
but her goes again
i think it's the only thing
that'll save us
Paul

[laruth.livejournal.com]

This story strikes a chord in me. I'm one of those people who aren't great in sport (or art, or music), but I'm ok. But it's sometimes difficult being "just ok".

Thanks for sharing that story. My heart goes out to Sean, and I wonder what has become of him today.

[gurdonark.livejournal.com]

I tried to google up where Sean is now, but I got too many responses about people with similar names.