For those of you that don't know, my father passed away in 1996. I was 27 and he had been diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. The bigger problem was that a few months earlier he had broken a bone in his foot and got up on it too quickly. He had blood clot issues which caused him to go on blood thinners. He was still on the medication when he received the news about the aneurysm. He needed to wait for this blood viscosity to get back to normal before he could have the surgery. Luckily, he made it to the surgery. It went well. He was recuperating in the hospital without any issues. Six days after his brain surgery he was being helped to the bathroom when he dropped dead. Bill Crull was killed instantly by two pulmonary embolisms and an arterial embolism in his heart. He was 51.
Back to my point, I signed my littlest son up for Little League this last week. This was the time of the year growing up that was the most difficult for me to endure. I was ALWAYS ready for baseball season. Knowing that the winter was ending, spring was coming, and baseball was starting left me giddy with hope. I wish both my sons played ball now. My oldest just hasn't shown the interest and I allow him to be his own young man, it's just hard for me to understand why you wouldn't play baseball. I would bug my Dad to death about sign ups for Little League. Deep down, I'm sure he loved it, but I would drive him crazy about it because I loved it so much. I was also one of the very few players who enjoyed having my dad as the coach. He always seemed to know me better than I knew myself and he encouraged me in that way so that I would realize those skills. The ONLY thing I wouldn't do that he wanted me to was steal home with a right-handed hitter at the plate. I could never trust my teammates to read the sign correctly when a misinterpretation meant a baseball bat upside my head. I miss those times.
The second memory from this week was one of the best lessons I've ever learned in life from my Dad. Every year our Little League (Rome Little League in Rome, IL) held a post season awards ceremony. Each of the teams from the different leagues would gather and each league/team would present awards in front of everyone else. Each team, regardless of league, gave out three trophies - MVP, Batting Average and Sportsmanship. The 12 year old players had an overall best player trophy called the Gotch Award, named after a young man who played in our league but died tragically in a fire at 12. The 13 year old players had an overall best player trophy called the Stoecker Award named after a major sponsor of our Little League. Now, I fancied myself as a good ball player. Yes, I was an All-Star every year but I never imagined myself (in reality, I dreamed about it though) winning one of the two big awards. For me, it was all about the MVP. Batting average can come down to one AB so that didn't bother me much, but to be deemed the Most Valuable Player on your team was the highest honor you could receive. You were the best. And isn't that what every aspiring Cubs center-fielder (my dream as a kid) hopes for?
Well, I never won it. And by the time I reached 13 I'd had enough. Oh, I didn't go award-less. Nearly every year I won the Sportsmanship trophy for my team. While I loved being a great teammate and playing the game the right way, I just wanted the approval that I was good. So here I am as a 13 year old and the evening awards ceremony is over, I've just won the Sportsmanship trophy again and we're headed to the van. I'm steaming because I felt like I had a great year and was deserving of the MVP award. It was just me, my Dad and my brother and I got to ride in the front seat on the way home.
** side note - isn't it great the things we manage to create when we have siblings? Heaven forbid one sibling get to ride in the front seat on the way to a destination and I don't get a chance on the way back? And I had an older brother and two younger sisters, so it was always a discussion, for lack of a better term. :) **
As we got into the van I took the trophy and threw it down between the two front seats and proceeded to exclaim to anyone who could hear me, "I'm sick of winning this stupid trophy. I want to be recognized as the best player on the team" (Yes, it's been a few years but I feel like it's OK to use artistic license on my own words). The look on my Dad's face sent shivers through my spine. It wasn't a look of anger or trepidation but one of disappointment. And not the "I can't believe you screwed up and I'm disappointed in your actions" look, but one that sent him into uber-father mode. He looked at me and said, in so many words, "Son, I could not be any prouder of you right now. To me, that award is the most important award you can win. It shows that we've taught you to be a great person, which is much better than being a great ballplayer."
At that moment, I was both mortified that I had done what I'd done with that trophy and yet ecstatic that I made my father proud. I picked my trophy up, dusted it off, and held on to it with great zeal. I took it home and set it up with all of my other sportsmanship trophies and displayed them proudly. My father taught me that how you play is more important that how well you play. Always be above reproach on the field of play. I'm glad I made him proud.
I hope I can pass the same lesson on to my sons....
2 comments:
I'm 51 years old now and lived and played baseball in Rome until I was 11. I moved out of Rome in 1977 at age 12 and haven't been back since. I don't know why I googled the field I played my 2nd year of little league at. I played my first year there as well but I don't remember the name of the field my first year on it. I do and have always remembered the name the second and last year I played. While we weren't on the same team we only lived a few streets over from each other and Tim Gotch was a very cool kid with a gentle soul that I called a friend. He liked everyone he met. I'm very glad to find out the field is still named after him. I'm planning my first visit back to Peoria since the 70's. This field will be on my list of places at 51 years old I have to stop at. Thank you Rome for keeping this Memorial sacred! Tim would have been proud of all of the kids that grew up loving baseball on any field, let alone one named after him.
and thank you for sharing your story. I am sorry to hear about the passing of your father. however your words bring back such fond memories of my own youth.
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