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A reminder if you’ve lived it.

A primer if you’re just starting the journey.

Why I Wrote First Pitches and Last at Bats

It was always his journey. I was just along for the ride.

I tried hard not to layer my world onto his. As we grew into the game he loved together, there finally came a day when I could ask, "Do you want to know what I see?"

First Pitches and Last at Bats is what I saw.

From standing at the fence as a dad...
From sitting on a bucket as a coach...
From cheering in the bleachers...
From wishing for just one more game.

I watched baseball through his eyes.

I experienced it through mine.

I remember standing along the fence in 38-degree weather, trying to remember what the “Field of Dreams” really is… while questioning my sanity watching a scrimmage game, frozen to the bone.

To me, it is…

Those early Friday evenings when dust-covered parents have finished preparing fields for play. The grass freshly cut. The drag lines still lingering in the air. That red dust resting on the shoulders of tired men leaning on the fence.

Standing there, looking over a job well done, eyes scanning crisp white lines that don’t just mark fair or foul… they hold the magic of everything that happens between them.

Late at night, while I’m sitting there collecting my thoughts, there are coaches all across town doing the same thing—playing out lineups and scenarios in their heads more vivid than any video game.

The scouting reports are in.

The balancing act between competition and inclusion is set.

And somewhere along the way, families have already packed the cars and started the drive to wherever the next field happens to be.

“If you build it… they will come.”

It’s not built.

It’s ingrained.

What is this elusive thing?

Why does it pull us the way it does?

It is the game.