In the last six weeks, I've thought a lot about what the moments after winning the Southeast Regional might be like for our kids--and for us.
Actually, that's not quite right. It's really been just over a year since I first started thinking about it. Last July 15, I vividly remember feverishly refreshing Twitter as the 2012 8Us played for the Southeast Region title. I probably had a vague idea that other West Raleigh teams had won that event before, but that was the first time that a team with players, parents and coaches that we personally knew had played in the event. We'd actually been on the field with that team. We knew their nicknames. Some of us had even seen the inside of the RV!
When Coach Lance's team earned the win with an 8-1 win over Sarasota, I remember telling Stephanie the final score. "It was really nerve wracking following it on Twitter," I said.
"Yeah," she said, "but imagine what it was like to be there."
So now we have the answer: it is way, WAY more nerve wracking to be there in person, rather than sitting on the couch clicking "Reload."
But I've imagined it quite a few times since then. Even Coach Sean admitted in Sunday's postgame that he'd spent some time thinking about what he might say if the opportunity presented itself. I wish I could say I was that prepared. But mostly I just thought about what that last out would be like...what if it was close?...what if it wasn't?...what if we were, perish the thought, losing?
It happens, you know. Teams lose. West Raleigh 8U doesn't, but some other teams do. It could, conceivably, happen.
Sunday morning I woke up at 5:45. I'd just had a dream that we had allowed eight runs in the first inning. I decided it possibly wasn't entirely realistic, since the game appeared to be played in the backyard of the opposing coach (the foul line was actually a row of shrubs), and at one point he wrestled the ball away from Asher, threw it into right field, and then gleefully waved around his runners. It seemed unlikely that even the Southeast Regional umpires would allow that particular play, and I certainly felt confident that they at least would have sent the runners back a base.
But it still meant I woke up ticked off, and with plenty of time to think about how the day might unfold. I wondered what it would feel like to watch these 12 absurdly talented kids win. And I also spent a minute or two wondering what it would feel like if there were, somewhere in the Southeast United States, 12
more absurdly talented kids than ours.
I felt pretty sure that every possible scenario ran through my mind, from dogpiles to disappointment.
But it never, ever occurred to me that I might see this: Asher, standing in front of a scoreboard that read 29-5, with tears in his eyes.
I gave him a hug and asked, "What's the matter?"
The eight-year-old looked at me and said, "Nothing," and we laughed and cried at the same time.
Once we'd gotten home, when I was working on the blog (deep dark secret: it's as much therapy for me as it is informational for you), he stuck his head in the door.
"I was thinking about why I was crying after the game," he said.
"And?" I asked.
"I just don't think I've ever had that much fun before," he said.
In his famous ESPYs speech given 20 years ago, Jim Valvano said you should do three things every day:
1. Laugh. We can definitely check this off. I can't think of a game or practice where the parents, coaches and kids of this particular team haven't laughed at least once. And that is without Coach Kevin having to wear his pink thong to practice even once (that we know about).
2. Think. As Coach Kevin said at pre-regional practice when he was fulfilling his dream of being thrown out of a game, "Can you throw me out for what I'm thinking? Because I think you stink!" There has occasionally been other thinking, but not too much to hurt.
3. Let's quote Jimmy V directly here, since he said it best: "You should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy."
How many times, really, does that happen in a life? Jimmy V said it should happen every day. I bet for most of us, it might not happen more than a dozen times, and I bet we can all name them without much effort.
Your wedding (Stephanie might argue as to whether hers were tears of happiness or sadness when she realized the whole Adam-can't-dance charade was actually
not a charade). Your kids being born. Seeing someone you love after a long absence. And maybe a tiny handful of others...like this one.
At some point, we're going to forget the exact number of hits and runs--although I bet we don't forget that it was a torrential monsoon of first-inning runs. But I really don't think I'm going to forget the looks on those faces or the feeling in that (very hot) Varina outfield under the scoreboard. People just don't get to do that, you know. Nineteen of the best other teams in the Southeast--the very best of the best--came to Varina (you're easily talking about 1,000 people just associated with the other regional teams alone) and didn't get anywhere close to getting to do that. But we did, thanks largely to three incredible coaches, 12 players/dancers, and dozens of parents/family members.
"That's a full day," Jimmy V said of any day that included the above three things. "That's a heck of a day."
It sure was. It might have even been better than I imagined.
