Insignificant Facts
Sequim is a quaint town, nestled on the banks of the Salish Sea, in North-Eastern Washington. The town has a population of a little more than 7,000 people, nearly identical to my hometown of Winters, CA. Although Sequim is in the rainy state of Washington, it happens to sit in a geographic-honey-hole. The rain shadow of the Olympic Mountains gives it about the same amount of rain-per-year as Los Angeles. I only know that, now, because my parents have mentioned it to me nearly a thousand times since our trip. In July of 2003, however, none of that mattered.
I was twelve at the time. My May birthday made me one of the youngest players on the team, due to the July 1st cutoff. A mishmash of tall, short, fast, and slow, our Solano Tigers were a tough team. I was neither tall, nor fast. This stands out when you are at a 12-U tournament. Half the boys are six-feet tall with a 5:00 shadow, and the other half… well they look like me. In July of 2003, however, none of that mattered.
In the final game of the tournament, I went 1-4 with three strikeouts. I probably had about as much impact on the game as my shadow did. I did not hit a home run. I did not make a game-saving catch in the field. I don’t even remember recording an out. That day, however, none of that mattered.
What Really Matters
What did matter, was my parents support. My dad and mom drove us 782 miles to the tournament. They paid for the hotel for us to stay in and provided our meals. They were early for every game and stayed late to congratulate us off the field. I never had to worry if they would get on me when I was struggling. Physical errors happened, and baseball was always a game. Not to mention, the hundreds of hours they had spent with me helping me hone my craft. Everything they did for me, I remember, clear as day.
What did matter, was that we won the game as a team. There were some standout performances, as there was every game. Players stepped up in big spots. When one guy got out, the next got a hit behind him. When one guy made an error, the pitcher executed three huge pitches. Everyone supported one-another. No single player could win the game alone. It was going to take, and it did take, everyone involved.
What did matter, was the feeling of accomplishment. We really had to work to get to that moment. If we had gone through the whole season unchallenged, the win would not have felt as good. Gratification goes up exponentially, the more we work for something. We all love the blue ribbons and the gold medals, but something feels lost when everyone gets them. There was only ONE winner. Only one team was left standing out of all who tried. We had a goal, and we achieved it.
In Conclusion
Championships can leave a lasting impact on those who are fortunate enough to compete in them. Win or lose, playing in the biggest game of the year is a huge accomplishment. Whether it’s a 12-U Babe Ruth World Series in Sequim, or a Super Bowl in Tampa, Championships matter. I dream about getting back to Sequim one day, and, odds are, there won’t be a rain cloud in sight.
