We Are The Champions, My Friend
A Guest Post from
(AKA E. Peevie of the Green Room )
You’ve been following the debate , of course, about whether or not I should bring C. Peevie back to Chicago from our idyllic vacation resort in South Haven for the final Little League championship game.
Well, as I reported in The Green Room (http://greenroomthoughts.blogspot.com/2008/07/we-are-champions.html ), the family was supportive, so we made the hot, un-air-conditioned drive, and arrived with about an hour to spare. I got comfortable in my folding camp chair in prime real estate behind the Brewers’ bench, where I sat for exactly one scoreless inning.
Then C. Peevie got up to bat with one runner on base and one out in the top of the second. I’ve mentioned that he’s been struggling at the plate, and when he whiffed the first pitch, my stomach lurched.
Moments later my boy scorched a line drive over the third baseman’s head and past the left fielder for a triple—driving in the first run of the game. I left my middle-aged mom self behind and jumped about 17 feet in the air. “Go, Zeusk*!” I screamed. “Run like the wind!”
C. Peevie has many strengths, abilities and assets. Speed is not one of them. And yet that boy—my boy—pulled off a triple, setting the stage for two more runs that inning. The Brewers led until the fifth inning, when the Twins pulled ahead by one run. By the end of the fifth inning, every fan on both sides of the field was standing, cheering every pitch, every play, every blink.
Coach Lou moved C. Peevie around, starting him in left, playing him in center and right, and a couple of innings at first base. Sometime around the sixth inning, he fielded a sharply hit ground ball about eight feet from the first base bag. He knocked it down, and fumbled it for a second. The crowd roared.
Then we saw the kind of smart teamwork that coaches dream about: C. Peevie realized he couldn’t pick up the ball and get back to the bag quickly enough to make the out. Abandoning his feckless fumbling, he darted to the bag. Meanwhile, the second baseman, in heads-up play, scooped up the ball and tossed it over to C. P. at first for the out. On the Brewers’ sidelines, we passed the defibrillator down the row.
Finally, in the bottom of the seventh, the Brewers faced a desperate one-run deficit. Batting for the last time in regulation play, the Coach’s son Tommygun led off, smartly accepting a walk. He easily stole second on a dropped pitch, and the fans urged the batter, my friend ChefKat’s son and wielder of a Big Bat, Nick, to bring him home.
Another dropped pitch, and Tommygun headed for third! We all stopped breathing, and yet somehow we were screaming at the same time! The Twins’ catcher threw the runner out, and we were two outs away from earning a respectable but disappointing second place trophy.
Big Bat Nick came through with a crucial single, and the next batter drove him home, tying the game four-four. We held them in the bottom of the seventh and went into extra innings. Honestly, I do not even remember any details after this point, probably because my brain was too deprived of oxygen, except that there was no score in the eighth, and the Brewers scored three runs in the ninth, and held the Twins scoreless to take the crown.
The boys celebrated with zero-proof champagne, and the adults celebrated with real bubbly. I was so grateful that C. Peevie had this experience, and I do believe the Little League Coach is right: it will remain distinct in his memory for many years, and perhaps even for the rest of his life.
And now I’ve made a deposit in my memory bank as well, one that will make me grin every time I revisit it. The trip was definitely worth it.
*Zeuskarelli is my weird and unlikely nickname for C. Peevie.
(Read more from The Little League Mom, AKA E. Peevie, in The Green Room , where she writes about parenting, politics, and other p- and non-p topics, and even posts a little poetry periodically.)
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