Grady Grande had always dreamed of being in the big leagues.
Like a lot of kids, he was a Little Leaguer, so naturally he entertained the thought of staying a kid forever and playing ball for fun and profit.
And by the time he got to high school at Iron City Union Magnet, he thought he was a pretty good catcher.
His coaches, unfortunately, didn’t share that opinion.
By the end of his senior season, he had caught a grand total of six games in four years, playing on a team that never made the district playoffs and managed just one winning campaign during his entire time on the roster.
At the senior baseball banquet when the awards were handed out, all he earned was the equivalent of a participation trophy.
That wasn’t how things were supposed to be.
The plan in his head was to make All-State, be an All-American at a Division 1 school and then become a first-round selection in the Major League Baseball First-Year Player Draft where he would sign an incentive-laden contract with either the New York Yankees or Chicago Cubs – depending on who made the best offer.
A long, storied professional career would end with him as a multi-millionaire baseball legend, one who would open a string of sports-themed restaurants right after making the National Baseball Hall of Fame on the first ballot.
Instead, as close as he got was playing beer league softball after work.
So, years later here he was on a Saturday afternoon in late June, sitting in his den watching the Yankees-Braves game with his granddaughter, Stella, daydreaming briefly about what was and what would never be.
“Papa,” Stella said, pointing at the TV screen, “you were like Jose Trevino once, weren’t you? Did you play the position like he plays it?”
Trevino was the New York catcher, and on this day, he was on the receiving end of Gerrit Cole’s four-seam fastballs.
“Oh, goodness no,” he said with a chuckle. “Jose is great. He played college ball, summer league ball, worked his way up from the minors … I’m afraid your dear ol’ grandad was never great. Or even good. I was more of a doorstop than a catcher.”
Stella smiled.
“I wish I could’ve seen you play,” she said. “I bet you were a lot better than you let on. Just to be out there on the field had to be fun. I’ll tell you what … that would’ve been enough for me. Just to have had the chance.”
Grady thought back to the days when he could get up and down with little effort, although the strain on his knees was more evident as he got older.
Even the pain in his catching hand still flared up now and again.
Still, knowing he had an opportunity that Stella never would put things in perspective.
“I played,” he said, “but you know the one thing I could’ve never done? Coached. I wasn’t smart enough to fill out a lineup card … to figure out what players were best at their positions. I would’ve never known the right time to make a pitching change, whether to send or hold a runner … none of that stuff. I was too busy trying not to screw up that I didn’t observe what was going on around me.
“But you can do all those things. I’ve watched you scribble on your note pad and strategize like a boss. And you’ve been filling out scorebooks since you were a little girl. Shoot, I bet you know more about baseball than I ever did – or ever will.”
Stella paused before responding, watching Cole strike out Marcell Ozuna to retire the side and end the fifth inning.
“I do love the game,” Stella said. “There’s something about it that makes me happy, and I can’t even explain it. So many sports seem – I don’t know – complicated. But when I watch baseball, I see players work together on defense but then have to stand alone on offense. It’s like two games wrapped up in one game, and that’s really, really cool. And knowing you got to do that when you were my age makes me jealous.”
Stella put down her notebook and manipulated the joystick on her electric wheelchair, allowing her to navigate closer to her granddad. She then reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Do you really think I could be a good coach, Papa?” she asked.
Grady’s eyes welled up.
“Are you kidding me, sweetheart? You’ll be the best there ever was.”