[turbomangt]

Warning, long ( but sincere ) post
After arriving just early enough to watch the team warming up for his first game in Florida I suddenly had flash backs of when I coached my son in his early years of tee ball. I was left handed, so that is how I taught him to bat. He favored his right arm for throwing so I didn’t want to mess with that. He was a pitcher, and dominated the youth league up till high school. I remember many kids giving up on baseball in high school, too competitive and hard to make the team. I enjoyed coaching him, even though at around age 12 he already knew more about the game than me. Not only did he make the team, but he broke the school record for the most wins in a season. Watching him play was both nerve racking and exciting. When he was on the mound I could see him look and try to analyze the batter, trying to pick out a weakness and lure him into a pitch of deception. Most of times it worked, but when the batter took the advantage and drilled the ball, Anthony took out his vengeance on the next batter. He was always disappointed that pitchers always had a designated hitter. I knew Anthony loved to always get a chance behind the plate, but in his position it was rare. In his last year of high school, the scouts were coming around from colleges mostly to see Anthony and one other kid. The choice Anthony made on Lawrence University was based on Academics not sport. The baseball team was a D-3, but the division they were in was among the best in the area.
After the first year in college Anthony won player of the year, and helped spark the team to a winning season. It was in the summer of that year when he gave me the news. He told me in the most serious tone of his voice that he was no longer interested in pitching, but wanted to get into the lineup and play defense, possibly in the outfield. I think he was afraid he would disappoint me. Nothing could have been farther from the case. I told him to follow his heart in whatever direction he wanted. I used to always love to play catch with him; I never thought I would get too old for that. During that summer I remember going out to the ball field with him to do the father and son thing as we always did. Sadly I discovered it would be my last. After 5 minutes of warming up, the ball was looking more like a bullet coming at me than a baseball. For the time ever, I actually felt afraid I was going to get hurt. He was able to throw 88 mph, and I never saw a ball coming at that speed directly at my face. The reaction time for me to get the glove up was so short, some times I felt like I was defending myself rather than playing a game. My hand was beat red and was swollen like a mush melon. He knew our time was over for now, perhaps fishing some day, or a camping trip would be nice, but he was way out of my league now for catch.
He really worked on his bat, and played hard in right field. As it turned out, I was there for my son’s first career home run, right here down in Florida, one year ago. That picture is burnt in my mind forever. It was the first game of the season; Anthony was practicing all summer batting and fielding balls. It was the 4th inning, runner on first, 2 outs, 1 and 1 the count. I sat there, as always nervous and excited; when the pitch came in and he swung the bat, I knew he hit it well. The ball was flying high and deep to right, when I saw the right fielder running to the warning track I though, MY GOD, it has a chance. The final moment of ecstasy ran threw me when I saw the fielder run out of room, and could only watch the ball sail over his head. I thought, it doesn’t get any better than this. My youngest son, Michael went to fetch the ball, and we still have it displayed in a case, with the date. I remember Anthony looking for his old man as he rounded the bases, as if to say, Dad, I can do it.

Now, it is a new year, his third year in college, and we are once again in Florida watching him play ball. His stick is still alive, and he is making fantastic plays in right, but this year, one momen