No matter how dark things may appear, this is not the end.

I joined the little league when I was a boy, maybe age 9 or so and I was randomly assigned as a rookie to a team sponsored by the Optimist Club. I was lucky because it was a damn good team that had won the city championship the year before and after I joined, continued to win city championships.

Despite me, of course. Surprised they didn’t kick me off and send me to the Ace Lumber Company team or Luigi’s Pizza World team.

We won basically because of Charlie C., the greatest pitcher in the whole league, and we all believed, the greatest athlete of all time at that age. Hell, he was other worldly compared to us, with an arm it seemed of an adult, and he struck out nearly every kid he faced, and if they were lucky enough to get a hit, it was probably an accident.  And he was a pitcher who could hit like a monster.  The only time we lost was when he was sick or had to travel with his family of course, and it was like a funeral on our side of the diamond .when he was gone. I think all of us who are still alive from that team are still recovering from the time Charlie C went on a 2 week vacation with his family back to Georgia, I think.

Oh yeah, we also had Tim C. He was a bull at the age of 10, and may have been shaving and dating already.  He defined the role of clean-up hitter, because we knew if there were guys on base, he would hit them home, often with towering home runs that made us all stare at the trajectory from the sidelines, tongue and slobbering bubble gum falling out of our awe – struck mouths.

And then there was me. The first year, I couldn’t hit a damn thing, and I was small, difficult to see, but fast. But, I was a good fielder, could play some bases I thought, so they stuck me in the outfield that year and tried to forget about me.  But when I got on base, usually because the pitcher hit me with the ball or I walked, I loved stealing bases and sliding in to home, getting as dirty as I could, even when I didn’t have to. I was a damn jackrabbit who couldn’t hit.   My role was to try to get on base by walking, steal some bases, or have Charlie or Tim hit me home. That was my role.

But we had great jerseys. They had OPTIMIST CLUB embroidered on the back, or was it the front, I don’t remember, with our number on it.  All the other teams feared us, and I guess, rightfully so. At the end of my first year, all the adult members of the acutal Optimist Club gave us a nice fried chicken dinner and mashed potatoes, and massive quantities of Coca-Cola in bottles at their club downtown. We were presented our trophies, and we felt pretty special. Except of course, Charlie and Tim – they were superstar royalty.  And yes, they only gave out trophies to winners back then, not to everyone.  Imagine that?  And then, we had championship chicken dinners the next year too because well, we were pretty much a dynasty.   And believe it or not my second year, I learned to hit, but I was still a skinny jackrabbit.

I am sure I had no idea what an optimist was at that age, and also no idea who the Optimist Club members were and what exactly they represented. I just cared about winning baseball games and receiving chicken dinners and trophies at the end.

So I thought about optimism in church today and those little league days forged their images back in my mind once again. Later, I looked up, for the first time, the mission of the Optimist Clubs: By providing hope and positive vision, Optimists bring out the best in youth, our communities and ourselves. There was also a very long mission statement which I won’t write here, but mentioned concepts like advancing humankind, life, youth, etc.

And then I wondered, what an auspicious start I had back then. I was an optimist, I wore the shirt and I didn’t even understand what it meant.  And as my life went on, with more victories as well as many setbacks, stupid decisions and challenges, including events that could’ve taken my life several times, perhaps I did have a degree of optimism in me deep down, and I was surely blessed by God.

I know that now. No matter how dark things may appear, this is not the end.

©SRC