I woke up on the
morning of April 29 some time after 7. I can't remember when.
Actually, I had been awakened that morning as a thunderstorm blew
through. It was about 4 a.m., as I remember. It rained hard, but
it seemed to stop fairly soon. I don't know. I was tired from
the night's previous game, an 8-inning thriller (albeit a loss)
where we had tied the game with a steal of home with two outs in
the bottom of the 7th.
So, I got up and
decided to go to the field to survey the damage and, if
necessary, do some preliminary work on the field as necessary to
get it ready for our noon game against Covenant. I left my wife a
note that I would "be back soon" to take Hope to her ballet
class. I tried to check the weather radar on my computer before
I headed out. Before I had drifted off to sleep the night before,
I had observed a band of storms coming through early in the a.m..
But I didn't see any more after that. The rain would certainly be
done by 8 or so. Still, it would be good to see the radar before I
headed out. There was no connection, though. I would have to go
"in the dark". I didn't know what was ahead. Better take my
broom to sweep water.
As I left, I saw
water in the ditches in the neighborhood, but not as bad as I'd
seen it before. Or so it seemed. I drove to Barton. I looked
forward to the finish of today's tournament, confident both that
we would play and play well. As I drove to the field, the rain
started to steadily come down. This was surely the end of it.
When I got to
Barton a little after 8, the rain had slacked. I went to the red
field and there was the familiar lake behind second. Third looked
pretty bad, too. Then there was the first-base line. And the
mound. And. .. and ... oh, yeah, home plate. But at least the
rain had stopped. It was surely over. Plenty of time. Hope
sprung eternal. I thought of Keith Coneby and how he refused
to give up on the field before the 101-inning game. I waited for
the call that the game was off. Keith called, "I think it's going
to be playable."
So, I started to
sweep with a purpose. Water began to disappear from behind second
base, and then the mound ... and then home. My confidence began
to soar.
My phone began
to ring. First, it was my wife. No need to get Hope. ... I was
working on the field, I said. "I think we'll be fine." When
people get here for set-up, they can just help with finishing up
the field. When people start arriving, I will head home, about
10:30. Maybe we'll just start the first game today about an hour
or so later, I thought. I resumed sweeping. More progress. More
optimism.
As long as the
rain stayed away, we'd get it done. No problem. C'mon, Lord.
You know we've got big plans today, I thought ... and prayed.
My cell phone
rang again. It was around 9. Steve Winnon of TWCA wanted to know
the status. I told Steve I was working on the field and I thought
we could do it. Maybe we'd start that first game about 1:15
instead of noon. Could his players get there around noon to
help? Sure, he said. This would be fine, I thought ...
But as I talked
to Steve on the phone, the rain began to come down. Again. This
time it was harder. As I talked on the phone, it began to pour.
"I've got to go, Steve." I looked at the puddles reemerging,
becoming the familiar lake behind second base. Third was the same
as when I'd gotten there. No, worse. Home was a lake again.
I started to
worry that, yes, our season would end on a rainout. We had
already been rained out in Dallas and we'd had our home game
against St. John's rained out. The Grace game was cancelled next
week.
Well, it's just
baseball, right? Yeah, well ... Good, the rain slacked and I
fired up the broom again. Finally, the rain was over. Another
15-20 minutes of sweeping and more progress. Yes, yes, it would
happen.
And then it did
happen ...
It started
raining again. This time just as hard. I was soaked. Tired.
Mad.
I looked up in
the sky and began a conversation. What a sight I must have
been. Soaked to the bone, I screamed, "What are you doing,
God?!" I thought, don't you know ...
I thought of our
season. There were so many memorable moments. There was the
progress since the opener at Cooper, the back-to-back homers by
Matt and Hutch in Tomball, the tournament win at Salem and Ben's
pitching performance on that day, the ice-cold game against
Covenant, the gritty comeback at St. John's against their ace, the
farm-team contributions at KIPP, Reagan's hair on fire flying down
the line, Truett getting loose for another big celebration after
another big score, the unflappable Andrew on the mound, David
Preston's ball-that-wouldn't-land that helped us win the Ft. Bend
game in the final inning, the tremendous performance at Westbriar, Travis teaching
the perils of defending the run-down, two triples by C.J. in one
inning, and Daniel's steal of home and the joyous bedlam that
ensued... less than 12 hours ago.
And our season
would be remembered for this day? It would end this way? It
wasn't right. Why must our season be remembered and end in this
way? Why must it happen this way on this day?
I told God so.
I was mad. Now, I would have to cancel the tournament. Refunds.
Hassles. Disappointed kids and parents. Great. It wasn't
right. My sense of justice was aroused.
More sweeping.
I was now sweeping in the rain. But why? This was crazy. What
if some one was watching? The rain slacked a bit, but I am
sweeping what is falling. The rain slacked, but I just didn't
know if I could continue. This was crazy.
Crazy. What is
the purpose of this? For a baseball tournament?
My angst was
shattered by a familiar voice.
"Hey,
brother." It was David Hutchins (the dad) with Hutch. They had
rakes and big smiles. There was hope. The three of us worked for
a while, and I began to talk of the sun coming out. I think I see
it ... but, we got some more rain still. I was about 10:20 now.
I went to make
some calls, but my phone had become a casualty to the rain. Wait,
I could get messages. There were 7 now, but ... no way to
retrieve them. Hey, everything on my phone worked but the
buttons. So, what about the umps?
David Hutchins
got a broom. Water started moving. A cheer erupted from the three
of us as the sun tried to poke through. Another cheer as Travis
and Jesse Roland arrived. Travis just started working and
digging. Jesse, too.
David Hutchins
talked of how Jesus must have felt in the garden. We would be
okay, he said. Probably right. I love the Hutchins.
David Preston
arrived and grabbed a broom and took on the reemerging lake on the
left side of the infield. Great job. And Vinny the Blade showed
up and became Vinny the Rake.
Brooms and rakes
were moving. Water was, too. More arrivals. There was Phil
Wegner, with a blower. Phil's brother-in-law was there, too.
John Chambers had two bags of kitty litter on his shoulders. "We
are going to need more," he said, astutely. John instructed the
assembled workers in how to use a bucket to get the muck from the
field.
Still more
Mustangs and dads arrived. The Breuers were there, ready to
work. There was Kirk Murray ... and his dad.
Maybe we had a
chance, after all. Maybe this was the plan ...
Man, all of this
for a baseball game? I don't know. Maybe there was something
more going on ...
I went to the
parking lot to see if my phone had come up for air again. More
messages. No way to get them. Great. I can listen, but the
buttons didn't work.
Covenant's
players began to show ... Send help, and rakes, I pleaded.
Drenched with
water and mud, I had to go home to get showered and changed. But
what would I find when I returned?
Ah, but before I
left, the umpires were here. I apologized for not sending word,
as my phone was a casualty to the storm. He was gracious, and he
walked with me to the field. I told him we were now shooting for
a 2 p.m. start to our 4 games this day.
"You've got a
lot of faith," he said. Not really, I thought. I laughed. I
really had a lot of anger a while ago. Now, I had a lot of help.
"I don't know,
it looks pretty bad," he said. "But, if any one can do it, y'all
can." As he spoke, what had now become a small army of workers
was frantically scooping mud, sweeping water, and raking dirt.
What a sight.
And for a
baseball game? Surely it was more.
It was time to
go now. I had to hurry so I could get Reagan and Andrew and get
back by 1:20, when we were to start warming. I left hoping that
the field would be ready ... believing.
The task was
monumental, though. It looked bleak. Later, tales would be told
of baselines ablaze and all sorts of desperate measures.
Some even tried
to call me ... to call it off. In a moment of despair, it was
just too much. But, remember that danged old rain had killed my
phone. Funny, the same rain that threatened to stop the ball
games now kept the Mustangs and their families working. They kept
working alright.
Then, TWCA
players and their coach arrived to view the muck on the field.
Yet, the muck created an opportunity for a bonding. The two
teams of Christian young men bonded as they worked together. TWCA
Coach Steve Winnon was greeted by muddy Mustang players who
offered their handshakes and thanks. He was moved to tears by
their character, so much so that he would address them later that
night to thank them for their inspiration and Christian witness.
Two teams united
... Maybe this
was going
to be a day to be remembered. Maybe it was more than just a
baseball game.
I returned at
1:20, believing ... hoping. But no ... we wouldn't start at 2
p.m. Game time was now 2:30, and basically every minute of that
time would be needed. Still, it was incredible. John Chambers,
who has seen a lot of bad fields in his day, would later say it
was the worst field he had ever seen "resurrected".
The dugout was
set up and the Mustangs sign displayed in its usual place behind
first base. As the assembled workers left the field, seemingly
reluctantly, muddy brooms, rakes, and shovels were stacked near
the sign.
As I looked at
the sign on a now sun-splashed afternoon and tools standing ... I
snapped a picture in my mind's eye of a season, of a program, of
character and love for each other.
And remarkably,
without the unwanted rain, none of it would have been possible.
All the games in
the area that day were rained out ... except those at Barton Red.
The Mustangs'
game against Covenant started at 2:30. The field was a little
wet, but it was beautiful. The Mustangs won.
Later that day,
the Mustangs lost their final game of the season in an incredible
battle against the KC Sluggers. The score was 7-6, in 8 innings.
But they had won
much more.
As I watched the
championship game of the tournament that night from behind first
base, there was our sign again. It was sagging a bit, and I saw
some mud on it. Heck, mud was everywhere. But it was still
standing. I straightened it up. And there were the muddy tools,
almost standing at attention near the sign after all those hours.
Behind the sign,
the Mustangs weren't playing. But two other grateful teams were
battling it out in a fantastic championship game. And this
opportunity was made possible by the Mustangs and their families
... because they refused to give up on a season or each other.
So, what was God
doing after all? Maybe he was showing me that it wasn't just
about the Mustangs playing baseball, but rather about us seeing
how much we care about our kids and each other ...
About how there
is true joy in serving others ...
And about how
others can be blessed by this organization.
Thank you,
Mustangs and families for showing me that it is indeed "More Than
Baseball". I am proud and blessed to be associated with you.
