Keep your eye on the ball

They say it was a good thing the ball wasn't just a little lower. My 12-year-old son's got the reflexes of a cheetah, but even a cheetah couldn't scamper out of the way of this cannon-like shot.

So when the screaming liner - moving 90 mph or so toward his body - was in his sights, he didn't try to act like somebody he's not.

He didn't try to catch it. He didn't stand there like a hockey goalie and block it with his body.

In that quick milisecond, there was no time for false bravado or stupidity. Tommy did what he always does when he senses trouble: He just got the hell out of the way.

The ball came off a juiced-up aluminum bat so powerful that, if Babe Ruth had it, his home-run balls would have drilled holes in Yankee Stadium. The near-miss was the kind of thing that's sparked discussion nationwide, and even prompted New York State and some New Jersey towns to ban the use of aluminum bats.

It was also the kind of thing that's sparked discussion at many dinner tables, including mine. When do sports become too much?

It's even a debate I've had with myself. When does the joy turn into punishment, given the amount of money that's spent on registration fees for baseball, basketball and soccer?

How joyful can it be when you think of the risk involved, and the thought of rock-hard balls flying around a grassy field, with little boys wearing no body armor of any kind - except for that much-laughed-about cup - to protect themselves?

All they have is the cotton shirt that was issued before the first game, and a hat that barely blocks the sun from their eyes.

There is a bottom line to this, of course. The worst thing that can happen to sports, and to life, is not when pain or punishment intercede. It's when we succumb to fear, and we forget the joy we felt the first time we signed up the children to play, and felt proud of the fact that we successfully taught them how to catch a ball, swing a bat and run to a base.

I have to remind myself, as I do often, that these sports, these activities are not so much a risk as they are a test. I have to remember - even as Tommy is ducking from screaming line drives, or when my other boy gets plucked by a pitch while standing in the batter's box - that there is a reason why we got involved in the first place.

I have to remind myself that this is all an investment. Sports build character, I believe, and give kids problem-solving skills that build them up, not tear - or even knock - them down.

In between the hard-hit balls are moments of sheer joy and success. In between the losses and the poor performances are the firsts - the first hit; the first catch; and the first pitch - that live with the child, and even the parents forever.

I have to remind myself of what it was like in the early 1970s, when I first learned how to throw a ball from my brother, standing in the backyard at my Point Pleasant, N.J. house, throwing against a pitchback. That was a moment of firsts, and now I see them happen twice-a-week as I manage a team of 8-year-olds, some of whom are learning to catch or hit a ball for the first time.

For every time of risk, I remind myself, there are 10 moments of joy.

I have two boys playing two sports each at the same time. Next year, we'll have probably have another in T-ball. I manage my 8-year-old son's team, and I'm having a blast.

Certainly, that joy can quickly vanish when you start to think about your other son, playing across town, standing on a mound of dirt with a target on his back.

But with every risk comes a reward. Just days after that line drive, my 12-year-old pitched three innings of nearly perfect baseball, and he hit a shot himself that nearly went out of the park. His team won for the first this season.

Just days after that, my 8-year-old threw 11 pitches in two innings, nine of them strikes. He practically jumped off the mound when he was done, and ran in to slap my hand as his team ran behind him, patting his back and smiling as wide as he was.

I've been reading a lot about Muhammad Ali lately. He once said something that I thought was said by somebody else: "He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life."

Ali said that long before he displayed the effects of fighting more than 60 fights, and showed the physical impact of too many blows to the head. But in interview after interview, he seems so much at peace with himself. He's apparently comfortable with the life he led, and he has few regrets that he led it the way he did.

Without boxing, Ali wouldn't have had the platform he had, nor would he have had the capacity to become a seminal, transformational figure of the anti-war movement of the 1960s.

Mostly, those of us who were fans of his wouldn't have been able to share in the joy of hearing his poetry, and watching his triumphs.

Perhaps one of my players said it best. He's a kid who has a lot of natural ability, but he never played organized sports before this year. He doesn't say much, but one day, after a game, he looked at him with wide eyes, and belted out what was on his mind.

"I'm having a GREAT time!" he yelled. So am I, I told him. So am I.