I’m especially watching the players who are new to the team—assessing their skill levels, thinking about positions they might fill and what will help them improve.
Avery’s daughter, Mia, has a good arm on her. I switch her up to pair with one of our oldest players on the team, Charlotte.
We only throw for five minutes and then the girls start to fidget. More balls land on the ground than in someone’s glove, so we move to batting practice. Helmets come out. Will throws and I play catcher. I send a few girls into the outfield to shag balls.
Mia hits a ball with a crack. It sails into the outfield past the point where I have anyone stationed to field balls.
“Leave it,” I shout.
“Good job,” I tell her.
She beams with pride, and moves to the back of the batting line.
After we’ve run through batting drills twice, we run a short mock game. Practice wraps up with a quick huddle.
“That was a great start to the season,” I tell the girls. Then Will reminds everyone when the next practice is.
“Arms in,” I say. Everyone puts their arms into the middle of the huddle. “On three.”
We all bounce our arms on each count and shout, “One, Two, Three! Goooooo Possums!”
Some girls shout their chosen team name instead. The whole group devolves into giggles, then they scatter to the bleachers to grab their belongings. Parents who stayed through practice step up to thank me. A few attempt to put in a plug for their choice of name.
“Thank you, Coach G,” Mia says.
“You did great today,” I tell her. Then I add, “Good work, Spike.”
Her smile is full, and for the briefest moment she reminds me of Hallie. I shake my head. I’m losing it if even a random dark-haired seven-year-old draws up thoughts of Hallie.
Mia walks over to her grandma, who is here with her. They wave goodbye in my direction and I wave back.
Will and I stick around until the last child is picked up.
“Hey, Kayla’s cooking lasagna tonight,” Will says. “There’s plenty. Want to join us?”
“Maybe another time,” I say, like I always do. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“One day I’m going to knock you out and drag you home with me.”
“I think that might be criminal,” I say, grinning despite myself.
“So is your level of isolation,” Will quips.
“I live with four … make that three … other men every other day for twenty-four hours straight,” I remind him. “I need a little time to myself when I’m not on the clock.”
“Point taken.”
On the way home, I stop by the Kinkaids’. Zach’s mom is home alone.
“Greyson,” she beams when she opens the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“First day of practice,” I tell her.
“Ah, yes. You and your baseball. How’s the team looking this year?”
“Messy, but it was just our first day out on the field. There are a few girls with real promise.”
“I’ll have to come out to watch.”
