Two Stories

I don't have any new arguments to add to these thoughtful, articulate posts. But I do have a couple of stories, for those who will indulge such things. They are true stories, accurate in every detail (except for the names).

THE EARLY BLOOMER: George began playing in tee ball and was immediately a standout, an all star. He was big, strong, handsome, good-natured, and athletic. Everyone admired him. At 9 and 10, he was the dominant pitcher in the town. He was a little wild, but his fastball was mowing kids down. His parents and coaches didn't know much about baseball, but they were very enthusiastic, praising him when he threw a strike and yelling sharply when he missed. He quickly learned to dread a wild pitch, or throwing the ball away. Adults hated that more than anything. So George, who never questioned the wisdom or authority of adults, became risk-averse. He dropped his elbow a little and threw off the shoulder. Most of the other guys were doing the same thing, because this compact motion seemed to improve their control by reducing the arc of their arm swings.

This adjustment cost George some velocity, but he was so big and strong that nobody cared. His coaches were thrilled to have a kid who could throw strikes and get batters out, and his parents were proud of their all star, so everyone agreed to leave well enough alone.

At 11, George's fastball was still pretty good, for rec league. But when the tournaments came around, he got hit hard. This upset George, and he lost a lot of confidence. He was used to dominating. So the next spring, on advice from a coach, George began working on a curveball. It wasn't a great curveball, but it worked. He threw it and people missed it. It seemed like a miracle to George and his parents. At 12, he was a star again, even though he had grown a little slow and fat. His parents dreamed of a college scholarship, and then the major leagues.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before George was complaining of soreness in his elbow. His fastball was getting hit hard, so he threw more and more curves. Finally, his elbow hurt so bad that he had to stop pitching for a while. The coaches told his parents to take him to a doctor, but they didn't. People around town speculated that George was "out of shape" and needed to "push himself." They blamed George's attitude and work ethic, not his mechanics or his curveball. He was wasting his "natural ability," they said. George was no longer the pride of the league.

During the next year, George hit a growth spurt. By the spring of his 13th year, he stood 5'9" and weighted a hefty 180 lbs. He was still dropping his elbow, though, and his fastball seemed to crawl toward the plate. Worse, the good hitters were crushing his curveball. The coaches tried him at third, but his arm wasn't really good enough there, either. So he played more and more at first base. By the end of the tournament season, he was missing practices and losing interest in baseball.

And now? George is still handsome, strong, and good-natured, but he is not sure he will play baseball, next year. He is tired of it. People make too big a deal about baseball, he says. It's just a game. And besides, his arm always hurts. Which is no fun.

THE LATE BLOOMER: Abe was a shy kid who didn't show any interest in organized baseball, at first. He liked to play catch in the yard with his dad, and hit the wiffle ball, but that was it. Finally, at 9 years old, he decided to play on a team. He made contact at bat, and he could catch and run, but he was small, and his arm was weak. He played centerfield and hit low in the order. He liked baseball. A lot.

The next spring, at 10, Abe wanted to pitch. The coach eyed this scrawny kid and laughed, but gave him a try. Abe's fastball was mediocre, but he threw strikes, so he pitched more and more. Abe didn't make the all star team, that year. But he wasn't upset. He spent the summer learning to pitch.

The next spring, at 11, Abe was the best pitcher on a very poor rec-league team. He was still small, and his fastball wasn't great, but he threw strikes and his two-seamer was sinking nicely. The weak hitters struck out, and the good hitters hit ground balls. Abe's infielders booted most of the grounders, so most of the runs were not earned. But that didn't matter. Abe was not counted among the league's best pitchers. Even though he had led his team in hits, he did not make the all star team.

This time, he felt cheated. He was not ready to stop playing baseball, so early in the year. He worked harder. Too hard. He lifted weights, trying to make up for his lack of size. He played fall ball. He threw hard from the mound every day. After a few weeks, his parents noticed that Abe's arm wouldn't straighten. His elbow was stiff. They took him to an orthopedist, who ordered six weeks of rest. Abe cried.

All winter, Abe exercised and threw to get his arm back in shape. By spring of his 12th year, he was ready. He changed leagues and became one of the new league's best players. On the mound, his fastball was average, but he helped his team win games by throwing strikes and getting ground balls. He hit well and easily made the travel team, that year. Unfortunately, for Abe, the coach of the travel team didn't want ground balls. He wanted strikeouts from pitchers with dominant fastballs or curves. Abe played right field. But he loved the competition and the travel. It was over too soon.

That fall, and into the winter, Abe worked very hard, but this time he took care of his arm. The spring of his 13th year, Abe made his middle-school team as a seventh grader. He saw some playing time at second, short, and third. He couldn't pitch, his coach said, because he was too small and couldn't throw a curve. In May, he earned a starting job at second base for a very good travel team. Most of the other boys were growing fast, getting mustaches and deep voices. Not Abe. He still looked like a little kid. But his arm was getting strong. Only three or four boys on the team threw farther or harder than Abe, and they outweighed him by at least 40 pounds. Eventually, he pitched a few innings in relief. He got people out with sinkers and changeups. On this team, ground balls turned into outs.

By August, Abe had played 65 games with no arm trouble whatsoever. He threw every day, and his body craved throwing. Just as the season was ending, Abe began to grow. Suddenly, his fastball was whistling and popping the glove. His fingers grew longer, and he could grip the circle change. It broke almost as much as the curve.

And now? Abe has a goal. By the time school ball starts next spring, he wants to have the best fastball and changeup in the league. He knows he won't be throwing the curveball he's learning, because his dad has seen the school coach overuse curveballs, even when parents object. Abe doesn't mind. Curveball or not, pitching or not, he is in love. He would play baseball every day. And he can't imagine ever wanting to stop.