Do you believe in miracles?

How bout one youth baseball team playing bad baseball , but slightly better than their opponent?

That, we got.

Despite many, many called third strikes at the plate, the D-Boys managed to best the Giants last night 8-7 in extra innings! The Giants gave up a lot of walks.

Our star pitcher continued his playoff role as a cryer, but last night, he was crying for his team to show heart and to keep battling. But he didn't just let his mouth do the talking. He pitched tremendous baseball and scored the winning run.

I'm happy for the win, but we were very lucky last night. We're a good little team when we have it together, but last night, we caught a break.

There were many base-running errors despite D.G. and I working with the team on nothing but running the day before. That is annoying.

But despite the win, and the overall entusiasm of the team, I finally saw a glimpse of "The parent" that everybody warned me about. You know, the one who mettles and screams and stuff.

It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but a parent pulled his kid away from a team pow-wow as Coach Mike was talking and said "I don't want you listening to them (coaches). You listen to me from now on..."

The kid went on to hit two batters in one inning.

Hey, whattayagonnado?

Tonight, the D-Boys go at it again, without the arm of our star pitcher, who has pitched as many innings as he is allowed this week according to the rule book.

Destiny gets away...for now

Yesterday, the beloved D-Boys were supposed to have a date with destiny.

But, like most of the women they will try to woo in a few years, destiny got away.

Cloudy skies and the threat of tornadoes caused the league's Commish to scratch our playoff game against the Giants. Sure, there was terrible lightning in the morning, but the evening skies were bone-dry. However, when I ranted and raved about the game being cancelled, D.G. sniffed, fingered his moustache and passed on some words of wisdom.

"Weary is the Commish who sends lawyers' kids to bat in a chain-linked backstop with aluminum bats when a storm threatens."

Truer words, D.G.

As a writer, most people would only want me to play ball in a chain-linked backstop with an aluminum bat while lightning crashed around me.

However, since we were all at the field, we tried to teach the kids how to run the bases properly. There was more than a few games that would have ended with smiling Dodgers if they did the basics such as running to a base without looking to see where the ball is, sliding, and just plain knowing how to make proper strides. (They all run like they're John Wayne, arms swaying out to the sides like windshield wipers.)

Ability to run aside, listening to the first base coach, D.G. is the most important thing. He is the eyes. He is the brains. To do what he tells you is to never worry about making a mistake. Some kids finally got that after we ran their legs off. Others did not.

We're supposed to play tonight. We'll see.

Maybe if destiny tries to run away tonight, The D-boys will know how to run after her.

Dodgers beat Cardinals, Pope takes back red hats!

That's right.

The Pope--a huge baseball fan for those who didn't know it--was so pissed that the Cardinals lost to the Chestnut Hill Dodgers in this past Saturday's playoff game, 10-3, that he took back their funny little red hats.

"This, I cannot believe," said the Pope who watched the game in what he calls his "man cave" in the Vatican via satellite feed. "The Dodgers are little boys. We're Cardinals. The Dodgers should be crying like they were after playing the Pirates right now."

I misssed the game. I was at a regatta on the Cooper River and left the team in the hands of the other two able coaches.

I should point out that there are three other coaches.

My anxiety over the D-Boys was finally relieved when D.G. finally responded to texts that just said "Score?" every 20 minutes after the game was over. I was happy about the score, but absolutely bursting with pride over Levi "The Jedi" who, according to D.G.'s message, has gotten rid of his weak, light saber-esque swing so much that he hit the ball into the outfield!

"He said he wished you were there to see," D.G.'s message went on. I gotta tell you, I got a little choked up. But I didn't cry, damnit.

I can't wait to see them Tuesday.

There is no crying in baseball...

just absolute girlish-like sobbing.

Last Wednesday, the Dodgers lost a heartbreaker to the Pirates. We lost by one run, which was given up in the bottom of the sixth inning...with two outs.

And for the first time, truly, all year, the Dodgers didn't look like a team full of suburbanites hopped up on too much of their mommies' lil' helper.

They cheered. They supported each other. They even talked a little trash since they were winnning the whole game.

Then they cried.

Well some of them did, and it was embarrasing.

One kid, our star pitcher, started to cry on the mound as his father--our head coach--pointed a stern finger and his direction while uttering "Don't do it. Don't you dare do it."

He did it.

And when he was still crying after seeking sympathy from--geez get this--his little sister, his dad said, "Son, it was a tough loss. But the team played well and this just makes you stronger and tougher and wanting to win even more."

The response: "Nawww...snifff...it...snifff....dawsn't.....bwahhhh....."

However, Willie, who you have all become familiar with for complaining about various joints, ligaments and all around wussy-ness, bit his lip like a man, held it together, and earned even more respect from me than when I told him he would like Blue Crush more than Point Break because the whole movie was about hot chicks in bikinis surfing instead of dudes surfing and he said, "Sweet."

As much as I could have done without the tears, I was glad to see that the kids--win or lose--actually gave a damn about the game, and playing well for themselves and their teammates.

But, this is a double elimination playoff, so the D-girlies live to fight another day. Saturday to be exact.

Weather calls for dry weather. I hope it stays that way.

What can I say?

Back during the cold March nights, D.G. and I would discuss the trials and tribulations of being first year little league coaches.

One night, while thoughts of warm breezes, sunflower seeds and the smell of grass ran through our heads, D.G. fingered the end of his moustache, leaned in across the table covered with empty beer bottles and proclaimed that we were going to get into the playoffs, by god.

He was right.

Turns out, every team makes the playoffs in this league, even the D-Boys who finished the season with a 5-7 record.

On Monday, we faced the Giants and beat them 20-6 in our first playoff game. Although I may not agree with the "everybody gets a trophy" mentality that allows losing teams to contend for a championship, it was hard not to be overjoyed for some of the Dodgers, who, it turned out, needed this one game--this extra game that the playoffs gave them--to finally coordinate their spastic bodies and hit a baseball.

Marquis, who once missed a game because he lost a battle of wits with a mechanical pencil (beware the leads of May, especially if it's in your pants pocket) got a hit! He smiled the entire time he was running, wind whistling through the space in his grin from his chipped tooth.

Levi, who has swung the bat like he was warding off harm with a light saber like a Jedi, (alright, maybe more like Dark Helmet than a Jedi) finally started swinging through the ball and got a hit.

And here's where the one extra game, the playoff game, was good for me. All season long, I worked with Levi on his swing with advice such as "drive through the ball." and "Open your hips." and "Coil. Pivot. Pop" These words meant absolutely nothing to him. I finally realized that and simply told him that he swings the bat like a light saber and that's not good. I told him "No star wars swings." This, he understood. It worked. He hit the ball.

Tonight, we face the Pirates, who as you remember are like Somali pirates, not fun-loving parrot -owning pirates, who plunder runs and then zip away into the night. It'll be a tough game.

I hope we win, but not for a chance to win a trophy because really I don't think we deserve it, but for the chance to have one more game in which the kids play, improve, and have fun.

Because that, they do deserve...and after a season of pulling kids off fences and cringing whenever they threw a bat towards an umpire, so do I.