Play the Hop
Play the Hop
It was always a great day whenever I was on the diamond, and such was the case on this particular day as my brother, James, hit me ground balls so I could practice my fielding.
When it came to fielding, no amount of drills or ground balls were ever enough. There’s something about the feel of the dirt, the sound of the bat as it connects with the ball, the rhythmic motion of your footwork to position yourself correctly, and the sheer determination to capture the ball in the leather of your glove if it’s hit in the remote vicinity of your spot.
Baseball is filled with those kinds of elements that add to its beauty. It’s almost perfect.
Then comes a bad hop that proves that as perfect as it seems, it is still very much imperfect. The ball bounces off my shoulder and trickles away. I pound my glove in frustration. James is also frustrated: “You can either play the hop or let the hop play you! What’s it gonna be?”
“I wanna play the hop,” I say without a shred of doubt.
“Well don’t get lazy then! Move your feet, gain ground, and choose your hop.”
I don’t remember how old I was on this day—maybe 9 or 10—but I do remember that lesson. Every time a grounder gave me trouble, I’d hear my brother’s voice echo in my head: “Don’t let the hop play you. You play the hop.”
I’ve hung up my cleats, and there are no more grounders to field, but every now and then I’ll hear those words, especially when I allow one of life’s grounders to hop up and smoke me in the face.
I’ve seen my share of bad hops, but thanks to those hours spent on the diamond, I have been much more prepared for them.
