As a freshman in high school, I was devastated when I didn't make the JV squad. While I wish this was a story about determination and perseverance where I came back stronger the next season, I just hung up my glove and moved on from baseball and convinced myself that I was not an athlete.
But I missed baseball.
I missed the camaraderie, the strategy, the ups and downs, getting covered in dirt. I missed how good it feels to make contact and watch the ball clear a leaping shortstop's glove and find grass in the outfield. I'd try other rec sports in my life, but nothing scratched that itch.
But then in 2024, 25 years after not making the team, I brought my daughter to The Sandlot Revival in Durham, NC. Seeing those players out on that historic field playing wood bat hardball with pure joy. It clicked. I had to get involved. I knew this was exactly what was missing.
Just a year later, I got to be one of those players, wearing a real uniform and playing ball with folks from around the country. Stepping into the batter's box, connecting on a pitch, sharing friendly banter with opposing players while on base all while knowing I had friends, family, and total strangers cheering from the stands. It was exhilarating.
That game itself is unforgettable, but it's everything else that sandlot has added to my life that I truly cherish. Not just playing baseball, but finding a home.
It's the community. It's knowing that I can bring my daughter with me to games and open sandlots and leave her in the dugout with one of her many sandlot aunts and uncles while I get to go out on the field. I remember once coming back to the dugout after getting thrown out at third, disappointed with the outcome. But then I saw two of my teammates playing catch with my daughter, and suddenly the game didn't matter. There she was, beaming, surrounded by people who've become family.
Sandlot showed me that baseball was never about making a team. It was about being part of something bigger than yourself, about showing up with passion and heart, about creating space where everyone belongs. The way we celebrate each other's successes, support each other through failures, and show up for one another both on and off the field, I realize that sandlot gave me back more than just baseball. It gave me a way to model for my daughter what it looks like to chase the things that make you come alive, no matter how much time has passed.
Twenty-five years later, I finally learned the difference between earning a spot and finding your place.
