Baseball Ch. 11: Squeeze Play

"Dad!" came a voice from behind me. I turned to see Jackie running towards me, baseball glove in hand. Her little sister Mickey and their lovely mother trailed not too far behind. All three girls wore their blonde hair in ponytails coming out of the back of their IronPigs caps.

"Hey girls," I said. Seeing them always put a smile on my face. "You're early."

"No, you're late," said Casey. She was dressed in her replica of my old Phillies jersey. "You said practice would be over at 5."

"You're absolutely right," I said, giving her a kiss. "Randy! Hit the showers." I yelled at the pitcher. "Thank the girls for your early reprieve."

He grinned. "Thanks ladies," he said, and trotted off the mound.

"Bye Randy!" said both my daughters. Both had grown up like their mother: blonde and beautiful, intelligent and determined. And, just like their mother did at that age, they had free reign over most of the stadium.

After I retired as a player, Casey used her power to get me hired on as a coach for the IronPigs. I worked with Chuck and Mike for two years, then Chuck retired and Mike was hired as the pitching coach of the Pittsburgh Pirates. The Phillies organization named me the new head coach of the IronPigs, and I worked alongside Casey to run the team and develop the young talent.

Jackie was ten now, and she was a pitcher. It was sometimes hard to get her to wear a skirt or dress, as she said she was most comfortable in her baseball pants. Gender barriers be damned, as she wanted to play in the majors some day. She played on a youth baseball team with all boys and two other girls, her best friend Lindsay and her little sister. Jackie saw more and more women playing on college baseball teams, and she dreamed of being an IronPig someday.

Mickey was eight and wanted to be a shortstop, or an agent, or a teacher like her Grandma - she kept changing her mind. It was her first year on the baseball team with Jackie, and both girls were amazing, constantly outshining the boys. And yes, Jacqueline "Jackie" and Michelle "Mickey" were both named for legendary baseball players, just like their mother and father.

"Daddy, you promised we could play," Mickey said.

"I did promise. Let's play," I said. Every Monday evening during the summer, assuming the team was at home, Casey would bring the girls to meet me at the stadium, and we'd play on the field before having a family dinner. Sometimes we would have guests join us. Aunt Morgan loved to come to town to visit her nieces, whenever her schedule allowed. Sometimes Lani would make the trip up from Philadelphia.

Casey took the field, halfway between second and first bases. Mickey grabbed a bat and stood in the batter's box, and faced Jackie who was stretching on the mound (or rather, just in front of it, as she wasn't strong enough to throw that far yet). We'd all take turns at batting and fielding. But Jackie loved pitching, and loved pitching to me, her personal catcher.

I crouched at the plate. My knees had gotten better, very gradually, and I could do it now with only a little pain, and only if I did it a lot. I'd never play in a professional game again, but even if I could, I'd gladly give it up to keep what I have now. I'd given up on the major leagues, and somehow still made my dreams come true.