The Perfect Day by Dalton Ruer

The Perfect Day

by Dalton Ruer

The movie begins as the sun begins its ascent over a luscious field of grass covered with dew. One by one, a camera brings the golden sun kissed and freckled faces of young women into the frame. As it pans out, you see the broader canvas. These aren't individuals; they’re a softball team. Soon you realize they are but one team of many, warming up for the battles ahead. Heartwarming orchestra music draws you in. As the prelude fades, you hear the determined voices of the coaches and the players. Leaders. Warriors. Encouraging, motivating, assuring one another that on this day, they will prevail. The camera slows as the crescendo builds and rests on the heroine. Having completed her mental preparations, she removes her ear buds and puts them away. She knows deep down, she’s got this. She pumps her fist and storms out of the dugout. Her metal cleats on the concrete overtake you. You are in the game with her as the umpire shouts the familiar battle cry, "Play ball!" I assure you, the picture differed greatly from the cliché Hollywood story I painted for you. As I approached the cloud covered, frost bitten fields in Duluth, Georgia late in the fall of 2011, I could see my breath. Players wore layer upon layer of clothing, clinging to warmth before their games began. Their red faces were a result of the cold and the wind, not the sun. I'd like to say a heroine stood out like a woman among girls as they walked to the field. Alas, that was not the case. At 7:00 AM, every player was a mirror image of the others. Undaunted and focused on their mission, for sure, but untested and unproven. It's the inner voice in each of these athletes that determines their fate, not a screenwriter or director. They alone are prepared, or not, to control the 8" between their ears as calls go for and against them. As the wind catches a ball for good or bad. Will an error unravel them or will they accept it as resulting from mathematical odds? Will they face the next pitch that the pitcher hurls? Will they relive the ball that the umpire called a strike in the last pitch for the rest of the day? Will they have the fortitude to rise above the frigid temperature or will thoughts of tournaments in the spring mingle with the reality in front of them?

Those mental ghosts danced before me throughout the morning as game after game was played on the eight fields surrounding me. As the clouds continued their easterly dance, the warm Georgia sun kissed the fields and the players on them, those that were battling, enduring game after game. One by one, players’ cheers were replaced with tears. Their dreams of taking home the trophy had unceremoniously faded like the sun.

Late in the evening, I prepared myself for the championship game. My body warmed only by memories of the day. Great plays by great players. What Hollywood screenwriters miss is that Championship games bless only one team and discard the rest. One of the teams had a high national acclaim. The other, a local team without accolades, one that I loved personally and respected professionally. While they won and lost games over the years, they never let me down. On this particular evening, they played in such a way that caused me to jump out of my

seat. Despite cold knees, a stiff back, and wail my mitten covered hands all around. This team had tears of joy welling up in their eyes because they knew they were going to bed forever changed by what they had just accomplished together. Like David facing their Goliath, they delivered a fatal blow. Being able to watch their victory is a memory I will never forget.

Down by six runs, they were undaunted. They knew that like life, the real battles are won by what you still can achieve, not by focusing on what others have already achieved. They banded together for a late inning, movie worthy rally, marked by lots of singles, bunts that moved runners along, and dives into bases. They pushed the boundaries physically and mentally. Fate put the perfect-size rock into the slingshot of a player who capitalized on the moment. A fist pumping Grand Slam. All that was needed was to follow the Under-Armor ™ slogan and “Protect this House.” One more time on defense. One more time to rise above the emotions and focus on the next pitch, the next ball coming at them. The next throw they had to make.

Although this day occurred nearly 7 years ago, it's still as fresh and raw for me emotionally as it was then. What I love about this game is that the level of emotion I still experience thinking about that day is that it’s never reached at 7:00 AM. Unfailingly, these types of wins only surface late at night, after grinding out a long day and overcoming adversity. This team held. They focused. They protected. They won.

To the 2011, 18 and under Gold Duluth Wildcats, I say:

Thank you for the opportunity to watch a team who despised losing and fought until the end, never yielding an inch physically or mentally.

Thank you for the opportunity to watch a team who never turned down the throttle on their intensity just because it was cold and late.

Thank you for the opportunity to watch a team who always lifted one another up, never doubted, and persistently overcame adversity.

Thank you for the perfect day.

Dalton Ruer is a Data Scientist Storyteller. He is a seasoned author, speaker, blogger and YouTube video creator who is best known for dynamically sharing inconvenient truths and observations in a humorous manner. The passion which Dalton shares thru all mediums moves and motivates others to action.