The Proper Way to Field a Ground Ball to the Face

I grew up playing baseball, starting at the age of 5, with the boys when we lived overseas. I was a starting catcher and fell in love with the position from day one. It wasn't until I joined a 10 & under slowpitch softball team after moving stateside to Tennessee, that my life would be forever changed while falling in love with the game.

Upon joining the team, I quickly learned about politics as the catcher position, along with any other cool positions, were already taken by the coach's daughters. Regardless, my dad still made me play and I was given a position in the outfield, which in my mind, were 4 of the most boring positions on the field.

So there I was, playing center field, where 10U slow pitch doesn’t get a ton of action. Maybe a short pop fly if I was lucky but that's about it. I'd stand out there, daydreaming most games, picking dandelions and tearing up blades of grass. Then, about 3 games into the season, our 3rd baseman got hurt and I was called to take her place. Nevermind. I had never played an infield position facing the batter, let alone 3rd base. Even for 10U softball, those balls can still whip around the corner pretty fast with decent connection.

A sub took my place in the outfield, I ran in, and was given a 30-second tutorial on how to defend a ground ball should one come my way. Basic instruction on how to field a ground ball would take an average adult a while to get down, let alone good at it. Not to mention, anyone that's played ball or watched it on television, knows a ground ball on the dirt and a ground ball in the grass, have two very different speeds.

The inning resumed and CRACK! The very next ball came straight to me. It was a ground ball, with inconsistent bounces, and WHAM! I took a short-hop straight to the face! I immediately dropped my glove and grabbed my face. That hurt! I was so upset and proceeded to cry. I couldn't believe that just happened! 

The umpire called time and ran over to see if I was okay. The coaches came over but I was upset! Why did they think that was going to end well? Why me? Why not put one of their daughters at 3rd instead? However, it didn't really matter. The play had ended, time was called, and the runner was safely holding on 1st. I was in shock in regards to what just happened...the pain, the fear. It was quite the ordeal.

Once the ringing started to quiet, another noise started to appear. Not ringing, but a distant voice growing closer and louder in the background until I recognized it was my dad. I looked over and saw him practically crawling all over the fence. He was beyond frustrated, telling me to get my “you-know-what” over there on the double!

My father was a retired Naval Commander and when he said jump….well, I'm sure you know the rest. I came over to the fence, realizing I was going to receive zero sympathy whatsoever. He wasted no time saying, "Tell me, was that how your coaches told you to field a ground ball? I didn't hear anything about dropping your glove, not finishing the play, or both! Here's the proper way to field a ground ball: you pick up the ball, you make the play, THEN you cry. It goes just like that, in that order! If you're defending the infield your job is to stop the ball. That's it!".

Even if I had gotten a "You got it?" confimation question, the answer would have been a resounding "Nope! Crystal clear!". The sooner I got out of that, the better!

Now, I was used to this military style of communication, but the Southern folk of sleepy, suburban Tennessee were not. The look on those parent's faces were priceless. They were absolutly horrified! How could any parent watch their daughter take one directly to the pie-hole and freak out because of how she handled the play? Especially with such little fielding experience?

I proceeded back to 3rd base "walking it off" so to speak, and got back into my 30-second tutorial ready-stance. The umpire even gave me a "you good to go?” check-in nod, because I'm sure he nor anyone else wanted to watch that happen twice. Well, the joke was on them! The next batter came up to the plate, and I kid you not, on the very first pitch raked the ball right back at me! Same exact situation: ground ball, short hop, and WHAM! This one I took directly underneath my jaw.

I scrambled for the ball, picked it up, threw it as hard as I could to 1st base, and by a half-step margin threw her out! I made the play and got her out! The crowd roared! We’d gotten the first out of the inning and I had done it in spite of what just happened the play before.

The umpire called time. The coaches came out again to see if I was okay, but this time it didn't really hurt. Well, it hurt, but in the best "war wound and proud to wear it" sort of way. Sure, she wasn't the lead runner and with less than two outs, the previous batter advanced to 2nd base. However, considering the limited infield training, plus stress and trauma of my newest learning experience, that was still pretty amazing!

I've told this story on public speaking platforms and in personal conversations and it still gives me chills to this day. Not because it's I'm proud of it or think it's super extraordinary, but because I'll never forget the look on those parent’s faces. The non-verbals regarding my father's "over-reaction" towards his 9-year-old daughter abilty to carry out a play. It was such an amazing gift and I knew it the moment I stayed with the ball. It was as if my father recognized, in real time, the importance of such a life-lasting lesson for his daughter and he wasn't going to miss it. I still wonder to this day if any of those parents realized then, or even today, the same thing too.

I'm so appreciative of what I learned that day and will cherish it forever. The story of how my father changed my perspective on the game and the world. He always knew I was okay or he would have led with asking. What he also knew was that out of all the people there that day who would live to see that happen twice, I would be the only one to live with it forever.

That experience was and continues to be such an amazing testimony towards pushing through adversity to greastness within my capacity to do so. I've stumbled, faultered, and failed so many times within my life, that at this point, I almost welcome it. It's in tribute to my father, within a sport that became my very first love, that I was able to learn what's kept me pushing through adversity ever since. That when "life gets hit at you" we all have a choice...we can either get hit, drop our glove, blame others, and try to gain sympathy. Or we can get hit, find the ball, make the play, and then if we still feel like it, cry.