The Bottom of the Ninth
My father is now pitching the bottom of the ninth inning.
We need a few more tests to determine just how many outs he has left.
I had the opportunity this past weekend to visit him on the mound and ask him how
he was feeling.
“I still feel like I can get them out” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting Cancer to come
to the plate.”
Nobody was.
My mother has caught all nine innings and she still remains the receiver of this
battery.
One of the seven fielders behind him had to leave the game early and awaits him in
the great beyond.
We all wait anxiously for the scouting report to help us determine just how to attack
this batter as he steps up to the plate.
We may be able to throw fast balls and get him out with an operation.
Or, if he has spread out too far, curve balls, chemotherapy and radiation may be the
best approach.
Or, if he is too formidable, we may just need to intentionally walk him.
The test results will help us determine our plan of attack.
Regardless, however, my father has pitched a masterful game.
I tipped my hat to him as I returned back to Seattle while he confers with his
battery mate and waits for the test results.
All of his fans are now aware of the batter he faces and all have risen to their feet in
applause and gratitude for the way he has played the game.
I learned this game and much more from the old man.
I would consider myself a blessed man if I could manage to play it half as good as
he.
One thing I know – he will face this batter, be it his last or not, just like all the
others; with a smart ass grin on his face and the assured confidence that it is he
who is the better man in this struggle.
Go get him, Dad.
Regardless of the outcome, it is already known that you have won the game.
We couldn’t be any prouder of how you played it.
I am glad you get the chance to hear the standing ovation – you deserve it.
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