Back to the Bench

One sport I wasn't very good in growing up was baseball, specifically hitting the ball--which is a significant part of baseball.

Since I had and have little depth perception in my vision, I swung late or early. Once in a while, by accident, the bat would hit the ball. I was as shocked as anyone. During try-outs in 6th grade, I must have had a uncharacteristically great day hitting as well as in the outfield (I had a good arm).

Thus, I was one of two 6th graders drafted to play for the "Major" League Cubs. What I gained in status among my peers for this elevated position, was soon offset by a terribly depressing season. With the pitching better, I hardly got any bat on the ball. Then, I was relegated to the bench. One of my last official at-bats in Pee-Wee baseball was batting against one of the best pitchers in the league Tony Brady when it was almost dark outside. Which made the prospects of my bat finding the ball even more improbable. I have rarely felt so much anguish.

We were either winning or losing by a large margin when I was called to the batter's box, making my at-bat inconsequential. But, it was quite existential. I bat, therefore I am. And, I got booed.

I learned a valuable lesson that day, position without performance or play is really bad. I basked in the glory of being one of the youngest players in the league for a while, until my lack of play and performance subtracted any of the positives. I spent a lot of the season on the bench.

Going back to the bench was instructive. I decided to focus my efforts on basketball where my vision didn't have as much as an impact. Since I was tall and a good athlete, I could bring a lot of value to the team even though I was never a big scorer. I got mop-up points off of offensive rebounds. During high school, I was a defensive and rebounding terror. And, I would score probably 6 or 7 points a game. I had found my niche and spent little time on the bench, until my left knee imploded. Then, I became just one more slow big white guy. With one bad wheel, I was nothing special. And, I went back to the bench. That soon caused me to quit.

Since I was only 17, I felt like I had received a bad deal from life. Athletics had always been my calling card to gain status. I was a very good athlete and six inches taller than my peers. A decided advantage in a vertical sport like BBall. As it is said, "You can't coach height." I am not a big fan of Small Ball. With everything else being equal, a good athlete taller than other players will always have the edge. It is only when the smaller athlete is quicker and faster, does height become less valuable.

Without getting into my life story too much from here on in, I came to realize in my 40's that I had placed an inordinate amount of value on my performance in sports. Yep, a slow learner I am. There were a lot of reasons I had done so. Since I struggled in school when I was young with Learning Disabilities, sports became an outlet for my talent--one that gained me a lot of accolades and recognition. A bad left knee became my tutor in teaching me in not placing my value in things that pass away. Christ is my value. What He did, not what I do.

Now, I participate in activities where there is no opponent besides myself and and no audience spectating. It has really freed me from all of the pressures of performance. I run, I lift, I bike, I kayak, and I could really give a flying expletive if anyone is watching, applauding, clapping.

"I ain't your hero" the Philly Rocker of years ago Tommy Conwell sang.

Get off the bench and out of the stands.  Find your own field to grow. You will find joy itself when you do something for the intrinsic reasons and not extrinsic rewards. Results are not a given in a fallen world. Sometime the ball bounces the other way.