Playing Small Ball

As I write this, the Kansas City Royals are up 7-0 in Game 6 of the World Series. Barring a catastrophic collapse, it's looking very much like they will play in a final and deciding Game 7 tomorrow night to what has become a fantastic World Series end to a thrilling baseball post-season.

The Royals without a doubt have captured the heart of their city. Conversations with those living there, coupled with an onslaught of journalistic meanderings and vibrant video footage have made it clear this is no ordinary team. This is a team of the people, a team who the city has embraced as their own, a team of players who celebrate their fans almost as much as their fans celebrate their players.

In many ways this team has the caught the hearts of many around the nation as well. After all, they are the underdog. They haven't been to the World Series in almost 30 years. They spend less money and have significantly fewer advantages than the mammoth Yankees and Red Sox and even my beloved perennially underachieving Phillies.

To put it simply, they play small ball. They do not win with flashy home runs and big innings and high-priced players; instead, they win with fundamentals. They hit singles and doubles. They bunt runners over and hit to the opposite side and fill their roles when called upon. They pitch. In other words, they do the small things often and consistently enough to add up to an amount of runs that will allow them to win games. Underdogs who exhibit precise skill through discipline and hard work and remain humble yet enthusiastic provide an ever-widening bandwagon for baseball fans across the country just waking up to their winning ways.

Teams like the Royals who win like this are easy to root for because we want to believe that the regular guy who works hard can win, despite the obstacles. More so than that, though, they capture our heart because we want to believe in that image of reality, but few of us have the discipline to find out for ourselves over the long haul whether or not it will work in our own lives.

We want to believe it does. It sounds pure - work hard, do the little things every day, and you will be rewarded with great success. But few of us have the patience to play small ball for long. We'd prefer to hit occasional home run; we place our trust in some major event to save us rather than the every day, consistent grind towards our goals. We want a quick fix. We believe in small ball, and we're happy it's working for somebody like the Royals; we just aren't sure we can tough it out that long to see if it will work for us.

Last week I was struggling with one of my daughters. I though she had become much more mouthy, more self-centered, more confrontational with me. We had a string of not fun days together. And I thought all day Friday about what I could do on Saturday that would fix it. Just like that. Where could I take here? What big outing could we have that would straighten this whole thing out? I failed to remember what has taken me years to understand: there are very few home runs in parenting.

There are few home runs in education as well. My students want them badly. How much can I raise my grade with this paper? Where will this exam put me? Can I do some extra credit? Had they been playing small ball all semester, they wouldn't need home runs. And that makes sense to most adults. But why, then, don't we play more small ball in our own lives?

Believe in small ball. Believe in it in your own personal improvement. Believe in it professionally. Play small ball in losing weight, in working out, and in reading books. Trust that hitting enough singles and doubles daily in your marriage will help you both win a lot more than swinging for the fences once a month. And in coming out of huge disappointment or tragedy or loss, acknowledge that it will be many days of small ball before you even look like you're going to be ready to win again.

Believe in small ball in your faith journey. Do something small today. Don't put a conference on your calendar. Don't wait for a church service on Sunday to pick you up. Pray a little. Read a little. Talk to someone a little better than you.

Home runs are great. But they usually come after 10-15 strikeouts. At least that's how the Phillies do it. By the time the home runs come, it's too little, too late.

I scrapped my home run hopes with my daughter this weekend. Instead we talked together on a hike in the woods. We read together. We started a project. Nothing major. But this week I feel like I'm on the track towards winning again. And I want to stick with small ball for an entire season to find out just how many games I can win.