For the past weekend I was down on the Cape visiting my father and watching he and his senior slow pitch softball team compete in the Cape Cod Senior Classic in Harwich. For a few years now I had been deeply interested in catching a tournament and this one did not disappoint. Dad played in the 65+ AA tournament for a team called HarborOne. And you know what happened? They went out and won the damn thing! In pool play they went 2-2, 2-0 on Friday, 0-2 on Saturday before heading into the Single Elimination Sunday, as legend would have it. HarborOne, the No. 6 seed, slayed the 3, 2, and 1 en route to improbable triumph. Think 2001 New England Patriots, it's exactly like that.
Of course I had my notebook because I wanted to write some sort of magazine piece and parlay that into a book about this little tournament. The kicker being that it is the child watching the parent play ball. That is what will make it stand out.
I filled a notebook front to back for the seven games HarborOne played, noting the commentary and the overall mood of retired men re-claiming, and in some cases claiming, glory between the lines.
There was Dad (Walter), Bobby, Tom, Russ, John (left fielder), John (scorekeeper), Steve, Freddy, Dave, Peter, Gary, Joe, and Dick. They all had their hand in it from coaching bases, to scouting the wicked Jim Parmalee of the Windham Elders, to picking up loose balls from warms ups, to clutch hits, and coaching moves.
A band of brothers with some 800 years of life experience. Not a bad follow up to 6 Weeks in Saratoga, eh?
At one point Dad complained that the long day that was Single Elimination Sunday cut into his beer drinking spate of NFL games. I somehow think that when we toasted an October Fest at the Lost Dog Pub to HarborOne when it was all said and done that it was somehow worth it.
Championships, no matter the size or scope, are, and always will be, rare.
There will always be more beer.