Approaching home plate, our team was suffering a four game losing streak.  Time for the pregame rule discussion with the other coach.  Fine, he does not like loose balls scattered around the pitching rubber.  I agreed to stuff the extra baseballs into my cargo shorts, while pitching.  Thus the Baseball Butterfly Effect begins.

[Nugget of background…  if a batted ball hits the pitching machine, it is declared a “dead ball” and runners advance one base.  If it hits the coach operating the pitching machine, it is a redo and the pitch takes place again.  Stupid rule difference?  Yes.  Was it in the rule book?  Yes.  Okay, settled.]

Flash forward to the bottom of the sixth, the final inning.  Our team is down by five runs.  Bases are loaded.  Two outs.  Tying run is on deck.  Two strikes.  I pull back the arm of the pitching machine.  The batter hits it swiftly up the middle.  It looks like it will score a few runs.  I pivot my hips.  [The Baseball Butterfly Effect arrives…]  The ball strikes my bulging front pocket that contains the many baseballs that the other coach requested that I stuff into my pants.  The play is dead.  The pitch would be played over again.

I sighed.  The other coach yells from the sidelines, “Nice job, coach.”  Gosh, thank you for rubbing it in.  I pull the lever again.  The batter swings and misses.  Strike three.  Game over.  Defeat number five in a row.  Ugh.  [The Baseball Butterfly Effect laughs in my face…]

Getting into the car, I drive directly to Dairy Queen, because nothing erases the bad taste of defeat like ice cream.  Licking our Blizzards, as my children and I return to the car, I glance back at the restaurant.  In the two minutes between us arriving and receiving our order, the line had grown from two people to about forty.  Our timing had been perfect.

Baseball game tonight, defeat.  Timing at the ice cream stand, victory.  Overall, I’ll call the night a win.