The Last Game

One day, as John Roberts strode past the local ball field, as he always did on his morning walk to the convenience store of a paper and coffee, he saw a group of boys dividing up players for a game.

John enjoyed watching the kids play baseball. The energy, the innocence, and the exuberance of youth always left him feeling good about the world, and it reminded him of his days on the sandlot, not caring how many innings they got in, just as long as they got to hold the bat or throw the ball sometime before the sun set for the day. Here, in this place, these kids were far from the influences of the outside world.

Now being a Saturday morning, these kids were getting an early start, hoping they could get in a full nine innings before their mothers called them home for lunch. Even if that happened, they would resume where they left off. John took a seat on the bleachers, just outside the chain link fence and unfolded his paper. “No finer way to spend a Saturday morning,” he thought to himself as the kids lined up to pick teams.

No sooner had John unfolded his paper when the first selection was made. John could remember how these things went. The first kids picked were always the bigger kids, who looked like older brothers of the other boys rather than one of their classmates. Then the picking would trickle down to the little guys that would ultimately get stuck in right field to pick flowers or chase bees. When the first pick was made, John was shocked that it was one of the smaller boys picked first. The second pick became the boy that John thought would be the first choice. The picks alternated, and it became apparent that something was amiss, with one team being comprised of all the smaller players, while the other contained all the bigger ones.

Not being one to stand by and let something unfair run its course, John stood up on the bleachers and called the boys over for a minute. When they got to the fence, John asked “Why are all the bigger kids on one team, and the smaller ones on another? This hardly seems fair to both teams.”

The captain of the smaller team stepped forward and explained, “The bigger kids will only play for the team that will give them the best baseball cards. Jimmy’s got more cards than I do, so they always play for his team.”

John was appalled to hear this. He looked at the bigger boys and he asked, “Is this true?”

Teddy, the largest of the boys, looked at Mr. Roberts and replied, “Why yes sir. I hit lots of home runs and I run really fast. I figure I’m worth at least 2 rookie cards, and insert.”

“You don’t get it son. The game isn’t about how many cards you get for playing, its about sharing the time with your friends and having the most fun” John said.

“But I want to be on the winning team,” said Jimmy, the captain of the bigger team, “and if I have the most cards, shouldn’t I be allowed to buy the best players so my team wins?”

John shook his head solemnly. “You can’t get so caught up in winning or losing,” John said to the boy. “If you lose, but you played as hard as you could while doing so, isn’t that a lot more fun than winning the game by losing all of your baseball cards?”

The boys looked at one another, as if this had been the way it had always been. John didn’t know what to think. “And you,” John said to the larger ones, “won’t you feel left out when these boys no longer have enough baseball cards to get you to play on their teams?”

The bigger boys looked lost at first, but quickly looked angry, as if they were being scolded for taking advantage of the system. It became apparent to John that they just didn’t get what he was trying to say.

Teddy looked at Jimmy and asked, “Well, do you want me to play on your team or not?”

Jimmy, not sure what to say at this point, said “Um, yeah, of course I do.”

Teddy said, “Fine, then let’s leave this guy alone and go back to playing before you need to give me another card.”

And with that, the boys slowly started walking back to the field, occasionally looking back at John on the bleachers, as if they were looking for some sort of approval.

Just before running back to the field with the other kids, Billy, the smallest boy out there looked at John and asked, “Sir, why did you stop to watch us play?”

John thought this over for a minute, then looked at the child and replied, “The game is like a story, with little things changing as the story is told from one generation to the next. Each brings something different, a new twist perhaps, to the table, but at the end of the day, they still tell the story. I wanted to see if the story was still the same, but I guess some changes have been made that just can’t be undone.”

And with that, John got up from his seat and made his way home. The walk never seemed so long.

As the boys grew, they would occasionally see John walking past the field from time to time, always with a cup of coffee and a newspaper in his hand. However, he never again stopped to watch the game, content with his memories of when it was in fact, just a game.