April 6, 2020

I know that I am not alone in my grief. The 12 other seniors on this team are more than my teammates, classmates, and best friends. They are a part of the best memories of my life. We’ve been playing baseball together for so long that some of them have been my teammates for more years of my life than not. Taking the field with them has been a constant in my life for almost as long as I can remember. I knew that, one day, I would take the field with them for the last time. Every season ends, every senior plays in a final game. But it’s impossible for me to accept that I played that game last June. 

Now, all I can do is sit at home, watching the YouTube videos of last season’s games. The same videos I watched, seemingly just moments ago, in sheer anticipation and excitement of putting that uniform back on are now harrowing reminders of the truth that they represent my last games as a Huskie. Every day of this year, I have looked forward to baseball season, towards playing with my brothers again. Towards mental conditioning in Coach Andrew’s classroom every day. Towards long days in the weight room after practice. Towards game days that didn’t end until the sun got too low for us to finish. To warm nights in Andrew’s pool after practice. In the spring, baseball becomes everything for me. It’s the best part of life. If I knew that we would lose our senior season, I’m not sure I would have made it through my senior year. 

In the time since the season has ended, I have been thinking about something my JV soccer coach said to us before our big game against PC freshman year. With tears in his eyes, Coach Shufelt explained to us how much he would pay for just one more game, just one more chance to take the field. Now, I completely understand how he feels. I don’t know what I wouldn’t give for another chance to take the field with my teammates. I don’t have the words to describe how it feels to lose something so special, especially this way. It seems surreal. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. 

Now, all I can do is turn back to what PN baseball has taught me: focus on what you can control. I can’t control what uniform I will be wearing the next time I step on a baseball field, but I know that what I have been a part of for the last four years of my life is incredibly special. Endings are always sad, especially when they’re unexpected, but that sadness is how I know that I was a part of something worthwhile, something amazing, and something fundamentally changed who I am as a person, and for that I will always be grateful. 

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