You Gotta Bring More Than That to Knock Me Off My Peg
Back when I was growing up, we played baseball a lot. Most of the time it was actually softball, but we simply called it baseball. If someone wanted to play with a hardball, we’d do that, too. It sort of depended on who brought what that day.
We were anywhere from nine to fifteen years old, and there was only one baseball diamond in the neighborhood. Teams were picked by two captains after the traditional bat drill and eagle claws decided who got the first pick.
We rarely had enough players to fill every position, so everyone learned to be versatile. One game you might be in left field, the next at second base, and sometimes you’d play two positions at once. If cousins were visiting for the summer, they played too. Everybody was welcome.
Over one Fourth of July weekend, we had a particularly large turnout. In fact, we had enough players that we even used a catcher. Catchers didn’t have much to do in our softball games, but we wanted everyone to play.
The game itself was typical of our neighborhood battles. We had some excellent players, so home runs into the street weren’t unusual. A fly ball into the tot lot was a ground-rule double. Every game was competitive, and nobody liked to lose.
Late in this game my team was up 9-8. There was one out, and our opponents had somehow snuck a runner to second base – Scoring Position. The next batter lined a ball into left-center field, where I was the nearest fielder.
It wasn’t hit particularly hard, so I charged the ball. I saw the runner was three strides from third and I knew he was sizing up his chances. Then I heard what everyone on the field heard.
“Go! Go! Go!”
And everyone knew there was going to be a play at the plate.
I had played enough baseball to know exactly what had to happen. Field the ball cleanly. Take a crowhop. Throw over the cutoff man’s head. Get enough velocity on it so the ball would take one hop and arrive at the catcher at the perfect height.
As my throw approached our shortstop, our third baseman yelled, “No cut!”
Our catcher instinctively moved onto the plate and planted himself. It may be where the expression “made himself at home” originated. The runner never hesitated. The catcher did not flinch.
There are moments in sports that everyone remembers. Moments when everyone watching says, “Wow…did you see that?”
This was one of them.
My throw was excellent, but not textbook perfect. The catcher had to lean forward just a bit to catch it. At that exact instant, the runner arrived.
Have you ever heard the expression, “What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?”
We found out that day.
The collision stopped the runner almost instantly, and sadly for them, eight inches short of home plate. The catcher emphatically tagged him anyway, but everyone already knew the outcome.
Friends all, we all converged on the scene to make sure they were okay. The collision looked – and sounded – pretty violent. .
Fortunately, the runner wobbled to his feet smiling. He admitted he never thought I’d be able to make that throw. “Only for you,” I laughed.
Then we turned our attention to our catcher. “Are you okay?”
He looked at us with complete confidence and said something I’ve never forgotten. “You gotta bring more than that to knock me off my peg.”
I’ve thought about that sentence many times over the years. Not because we won the game. Not because I made a good throw. But because of the mindset behind those words.
Life is going to hit every one of us. There will be disappointments, criticism, rejection, setbacks, and days when things simply don’t go our way.
The real question isn’t whether we’ll get hit.
The real question is this: How much does it take to knock you off your peg?
What a marvelous mindset.
Aspire.
Be Less Reluctant.
Come Upwards with Us.
