WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: I Could Never Be So Lucky Again

     Secretariat was a race horse. He won the Triple Crown of horse racing in 1973 at the age of three years old. Then he retired . . . at the age of three. As they say in the business, he retired to stud. For those of you who can only guess at what that means, your guess is probably accurate. Secretariat fathered 663 children (horses, foals, whatever) and lived happily ever after, albeit exhausted.
     Recently I announced my retirement from college baseball coaching. I am 55. I will not be retiring to stud. With all due respect to Secretariat, I am the father of three and it will remain that way. Besides, I still have ten to twelve years of gainful employment ahead of me before I can actually retire completely anyway.
     I coached baseball for 33 seasons- one at the middle school level, two at the high school level, and thirty at the college level. Now I'm done. It was time to be done. And I knew it. I knew it because God told me it was time to be done. Enough said.
     When I made the announcement, there were still six weeks of season left and I didn't intend to go quietly. I decided to have a blast. I let down my guard a little with my players and loosened up a little. I was able to enjoy every minute as much as possible.
     Our team played well down the stretch and, despite having experienced numerous injuries and setbacks along the way, began to play our best ball of the year. It was gratifying and enjoyable to watch. I enjoyed it like I rarely enjoyed it before because I knew it was coming to an end.
     But feel sorry for me not. Despite soaking in every ounce of closure I could, I knew it was time, and I had no regrets then and I have no regrets now that it's over. After all, I got to do things in those last few weeks that few if any coaches get to do. I shall highlight but a few.
     On the day we played perennial powerhouse Clemson at home, I was allowed to invite all my former players from the six schools where I had been a head coach to come down on the field before the game. More of them were able to attend than I expected. I was handed a microphone and afforded the privilege of thanking them for all they had done for me over the years. The pitcher who pitched the first game I ever coached back in 1987 threw out the ceremonial first pitch before the game, a pitch that was received by the last catcher I will ever coach- my senior catcher from this year's team, who has a chance to be a major leaguer some day.
     And to top off that day, for the first time in my career, my team beat Clemson. We had never beaten them in my seventeen years at Gardner-Webb. One professional scout sent me a text later saying that even though God probably doesn't have much to do with who wins and loses games, He may have had a hand in this one.
     After the game, I got to cross off yet another item on my bucket list. One of the greatest pleasures a coach can experience is to see his former players with their wives and children. For whatever reason, I feel a degree of personal satisfaction when I witness a young man I have coached in the past who is now a loving and responsible husband and father. So to be able to line up with my former players' children and take a lap around the bases after the game was a dream come true. Somehow I won the race and dove head first into home plate, which only hurt a little.
     On the day of the last home game a couple weeks later, I was able to be a part of a ceremony at the end of the third inning where I officially "signed" my last player ever, an 8-year-old boy named Luke who is confined to a wheelchair due to being born with Spina Bifida. After signing the document at home plate, Luke waved to the crowd and "dabbed" toward the players on our team while he received a standing ovation.
     Fortunately our team slugged its way to a comfortable lead in that game, allowing me to prematurely celebrate in ways not normally afforded by close games. Near the end of the game, I left the dugout and took flowers to my wife and mother seated in the stands, thanking them for their years of support for my dreams. There was a senior on my bench who was participating in his last game ever. Because of injuries, he can no longer swing a bat and missed his entire senior year, watching from the dugout and supporting his teammates. I sent him up to the plate for an At Bat late in the game. He had a cellphone in his back pocket, an expensive Apple watch on his wrist, and was not wearing his baseball shoes. When he drew a walk, the ovation was loud and long, lasting well after I sent a runner to replace him at first base so he could have an extended curtain call.
     But the curtain calls weren't over. I left my position in the third base coaching box with two outs in our last at bat and handed the reins (coach's helmet) to my assistant coach. While the crowd responded, I waved to my family in the stands. Then I waved goodbye to the crowd. How many coaches get to do that? Not many, I suppose.
     A few days later, I discovered that for the first time since I arrived at Gardner-Webb, one of my players was named Conference Player of the Year. And to top it off, I got the Conference Coach of the Year award. After my team was eliminated at the conference tournament, the coach from the opposing team gathered both teams at home plate, gestured to the crowd, and led an ovation to honor the occasion of my last game as a college coach.
     Jimmy Doolittle, who led the first U.S. aerial attack against Japan during World War II, wrote a book entitled I Could Never Be So Lucky Again. I could write the same book now. I spent forty-nine years of my life playing or coaching baseball. I threw nearly two million batting practice pitches at practice and before games, and scratched out over 12,000 crosses in the dirt near third base as I jogged out to coach my team each inning. Blessed I have been and blessed I still am.
     Folks keep asking me what it's like to be walking away from the game I love. They express their congratulations but also tell me they know it's a sad time as well. Some seem worried I will not be able to adjust to life after baseball coaching. But adjust I will. I'm not sad. I'm excited. Not because I've fallen out of love with baseball, but because I'm looking forward to what God has in store for me next.
     Philippians 3:13-14 says- "Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." I will cherish every memory but I won't live in the past. I will treasure the relationships from yesteryear but I will establish new relationships and create fresh memories. I will never forget what the sport of baseball has done for me but I will explore opportunities to serve the Lord in other capacities. I will pause to remember and smile, but then I will quickly gather myself and press on.
     The Reverend Dr. Billy Graham said that though he would have to stop working at some point, he would never retire from spreading the good news of the love of Christ to others. Until the day he died, he did just that. I intend to live each day as a precious gift from God, trusting that He still has plans to use my life to advance His Kingdom in some way. Sorry Secretariat, I will not follow in your hoof prints and retire to stud. I still have races to run.