There was a boy who played in the Little League. He played baseball, but he wasn’t very good. He was pretty bad player. He was a bad player actually. He couldn’t hit the ball. Everybody on his team groaned when he came up to bat. They knew he couldn’t hit the ball. He couldn’t hit it at all. If he did hit it, the ball just dribbled off his bat and the short stop could run up and get it and throw it to first baseman. “Out,” the umpire would yell and the boy would be out before he got half-way to first. The boy was happy when he hit the ball. No. Happy is not the right word. He was relieved. “At least I hit the ball,” he said. “I didn’t strike out that time.”
The boy couldn’t catch the ball and he couldn’t throw it as far as the other kids. They put him in right field. You know—in Little League they put all the bad players in right field. The boys who can’t catch and can’t throw, they put them in right field, because in Little League not many balls get hit out there. The boys who can’t play, they stand out in right field and no ball comes to them. They just stand there and look at the grass and flowers, because no ball gets hit out there.
This little boy had a father who was an important man. His father traveled a lot, going to meetings and making money. The father didn’t see his boy play much, because the father was out of town, going to meetings, making money.
One time the father didn’t have any meetings so he went to see his boy play baseball. “Oh, no,” the boy thought. “My father is coming to see me play. I hope they don’t hit the ball to me.” He would be out there in right field, praying. “Please don’t hit the ball to me.”
The first inning, the other team was batting and the first three boys to bat got on base. The bases were loaded. The boy in right field prayed harder, “Please don’t hit the ball to me.”
Crack. The ball was hit out in right field. The boy ran in to catch the ball, but he misjudged the ball and as the boy was coming in the ball was going out. Suddenly, the boy saw he made a mistake. “Oh no,” he said. He stuck his glove up but the ball went way over his head and rolled all the way to the back fence. The boy turned and ran after the ball. He picked it up and threw it with all his might, but the ball didn’t go very far. It bounced two or three times and just started rolling and the second baseman had to run out and get the ball. All four runs scored. The boy who hit the ball scored too. He hit a inside the park home run.
The boy in right field, just put his head down and he thought, “Oh, no. I goofed up. My dad came to see me play and I missed the ball.”
When it was time for the boy to hit, he didn’t do any better. One. Two. Three. He struck out. In the fourth inning he struck out again and in the sixth inner he struck out. That was the last inning. In Little League, they only play six innings.
The boy walked to the car with his dad. The boy got in the car and the dad was driving home. The father said, “I saw the ball that was hit in right field. The one that was hit over your head. You ran in and the ball went over your head.”
“Yeh, it went over my head,” the boy said.
“You know what I noticed,” the father said. “When the ball went over your head, you stuck your glove way up in the air as high as you could stick it. You did your best to catch that ball, but it went over your head.”
“And then you ran after the ball and got it and threw it back toward the infield as hard as you could. You put everything, you had into that throw. You threw it with all your might.”
“When you came to bat, you struck out three times didn’t you?” the father asked.
“Yes, I struck out three times,” the boy said.
“You know what you did, every time you came to bat?” the father said.
“No,” the boy said.
“Every time you came to bat, you swung three times. Every time you batted, you swung three times. You did your best every time you batted you swung. Nine times you swung. You gave your best. You swung nine times. That’s as good as anybody can do. You didn’t just leave your bat on your shoulder and let the ball go over the plate. You swung—every time.
There was another boy. His father said, “I’m going to make you a good player. I’m going to make you fearless. You are going to be so fearless and so though you will be the majors, playing baseball with the best.”
Every time the father threw the ball, he threw it right at the boys head. He threw it right at his head, as hard as he could throw it. Every time. The boy cried, but the father said, “Stand there, don’t be a sissy. You stand there and hit that ball.” And the father would throw another ball—right at the boys head.
Everyday the father would make the boy go out in the back yard and the father would throw the ball right at the boys head. The boy would cry. And then one day the boy got mad. He got real mad and he started swinging. He swung at the ball with all his might. He was mad and he swung every time harder and harder.
The first boy grew up. He lived in a little white house. It was a cottage really—just a small little house with two bedrooms and a bath. It was small, but it was very neat and clean around the house. The grass was always mowed. There were flowers in a flower box outside. His wife planted the flowers. People liked to go by the house. They said it looked cozy.
This man’s wife planted flowers in the flower boxes and she baked oatmeal cookies for the neighbors, and sang in the church choir. The man and his wife had two cute daughters, with blond hair and rosy cheeks. You know they were cute and as sweet as they were cute. The man and his wife and their two little girls did everything together. They were just happy doing the simple, everyday things—living in a simple little house and having fun together doing the simple everyday things. The man became a schoolteacher. He didn’t make much money and no one had ever heard of him except his neighbors and the people at church and his students who loved him. Those students just loved him, because he always encouraged them and found something good the say about everyone. Even the ones who weren’t smart and not very pretty and the boys who couldn’t play ball—he found something good in everyone of them.
The other boy grew up and became a major leaguer baseball player, just like his father said he would. He was a good player. He hit a bunch of home runs and he made more money in a year than you and I make in a whole lifetime working as hard as we can. He was a famous player. In fact, if I told you his name, you would know who I was talking about. He was on TV and you would read about him in the paper. He was a great player. Nobody liked him. They said he was mean.
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