My nephew played in the cross-town rivalry game of 8U teams: Blue vs the Gold. He pitched 3 innings for the Gold guys. The game had the feel of an exhibition mostly.
Early in his outing, one of the better kids stepped in to hit. As he was, my brother was telling me that this particular kid was telling Max all day at camp, how he was going to hit a home run off of him. “Uh-oh”, I thought. I got closer to the action and took one look at the professional, vicious cut that the kid took on the first fastball; fouling the thing straight back and level, indicating that he had just missed nailing it.
I let my buddy know that I wanted him to “change up” on this palooka. I couldn’t bear the thought of this obnoxious kid getting on him about hitting him. Not if I can help it. I could. Max did the rest. The next pitch was such a thing of beauty that I can not possibly describe it and do it justice. The kid swung and with all his weight out on his front foot, spun completely around to where he was facing the catcher and the finally the first basemen, as he fell down spinning a good yard in front of home plate in fair territory. No joke. The power of a perfectly executed pitch will never, ever be so clearcut. I put my hand up to my face to hide the squeel that I was beginning to emit as I saw this. Perhaps I hopped up and down a bit, too, I don’t know. I turned to Max’s dad and we exchanged, “the look”.
After seeing that good hack at the fastball, and then this falling down hack on the change, I let my guy know to do it again right away, and don’t mix in a fastball like we usually do. He did. Missed with one and then got him swinging clean. The kid was furious. He was shaking his head coming back in. Mission accomplished.
I began sweating the next time this kid came up a few batters early. When it arrived, the first pitch was a fastball, again fouled off straight back. The change was thrown and darned if the kid didn’t stand frozen and let it go by. Ball. Not deterred, I let my guy know to do it again anyway. He did and got the swing for strike two. A few missed changes and then he got him swinging on a good fastball at the belly; a fastball that must have looked for all the world like a Nolan Ryan heater after the junk we were feeding him. It was a pitching clinic. Pure genius. It has been added to my mental trophy case that this boy has just continued to fill up for me.
He came over to me between innings and said two different times: “…he FELL OVER swinging!” and we had a laugh about it. Nice moment. May there be many more. –Fog
