Over the last three weeks, my friend and I have been trying to mold 14 impressionable young children (ages 9 and 10) into baseball players.  And the process couldn't have been more enjoyable.

Last night was the kids' first game.  It was our first chance to see what they've learned, how well we've taught them, and what needs to be worked on in the coming weeks.  And while I tried to remain focused on the tangible stuff, I couldn't help but get side-tracked on the big picture.

The big picture being the purity of everything I was witnessing - the love for the game, the desire to learn, the desire to have fun and to do your best, and the pure emotion and vigor with which the kids play.  I'd like to share two instances that can best describe what I'm talking about.

After playing two long innings behind the plate, one of our star players, Aaron, took the pitchers' mound to start the third.  Now it should be noted that our previous two pitchers were having a heckuva time getting the ball over the plate, which made for a tough stint for young Aaron behind the plate.  Nevertheless, the young man came in and began firing one strike after another.  Suddenly, our team was coming alive behind him with a couple of nice hustle plays in the infield in addition to the strikeouts Aaron recorded.

Then, something happened that made everyone in attendance gasp.

Aaron took a sharp line drive right off the knee of his plant foot.  He immediately dropped to the ground as the sound was similar to that of a cap gun going off.  But before Aaron could think about the pain he was in or worry about the damage that could've been done to his knee, he promptly crawled over to grab the ball and attempted to throw the runner out at first base.  If not for the fact that the runner was a speedy little son of a gun, Aaron would've thrown him out too.

After the play, my friend and I rushed out to the mound to see if Aaron was okay.  Trying desperately to hold back the tears, he said he was fine.  At this time, I had already motioned for a new pitcher to come in but Aaron said he wanted to continue.  I asked the umpire if he could throw a couple of warmup pitches to see how it felt, and the ump obliged.  To everyone's surprise (except his parents), Aaron stayed in the game and pitched to the next three hitters.

However, at this point Aaron's control had left him (probably due to fatigue more than anything else).  Instead of thinking only about himself, he thought about his teammate, Justin, who was going to move from third base to pitcher when got hurt.  He thought about how his sudden wildness was hurting the team.  And most of all, he thought about how excited Justin was when he thought he was going to pitch.  So Aaron called timeout and asked for me to come out to the mound.  

"Justin can pitch now," he said with a purpose.  I asked if he was sure and he replied, "Yeah, I can't throw strikes anymore and I know Justin wants to pitch so it's okay."  At this moment, I couldn't help but smile as I summoned Justin over from third and sent young Aaron on his way.  I knew right then and there that this kid was special - a true sportsman in every sense of the word and mature far beyond his nine years.

The other instance I wanted to share came in the game's final half inning.  With our young squad down 14-0 and at the fate of the league's mercy rule, we were left with four players who had yet to bat, and the prospect of one player not even getting to hit did not sit well with me or any of the other coaches.

Thankfully, the opposing coach put in a new pitcher who wasn't nearly as polished as the previous two.  After striking out the first hitter, our next batter, Chauncey, delivered a base hit to right field and we were off and running.  The next batter struck out, but then the pitcher started getting wild.  He walked the next five batters and then hit poor Aaron in the back.  The six free passes forced in a total of four runs and had our bench full of young ballplayers jumping with glee.

Now mind you, this wasn't the most ideal way to string together a rally.  But when I thought about how their team garnered most of their runs, and more importantly, when I saw the reactions from the once subdued group of kids, I realized it worked just fine.

In the end, our kids lost 14-4.  But in reality, they were all winners (to borrow a famous cliche) because they learned about the spirit of competition and the importance of being a team.

As for me, I walked off that field with a huge grin on my face.  I had re-affirmed what I already knew - that Little League Baseball is the purist form of sport there is.