Editor’s note: The following comes from David Carrillo, of the Flor de Cana team in Southern California, from a section on their team website, entitled “Tales from the Diamond”. I thought you might enjoy it, as I did.

For those of you not familiar with David, (nickname “Cubano”), he is one of the top players in the So Cal travel league, the SCIFL, a five-tool player, and organizer of the Flor de Cana team. (The team is sponsored by Flora de Cana, a top-shelf rum )

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Tales from the Diamond

Fastpitch softball is a game that has grown near and dear to my heart. Although I consider myself a rookie to this game, I can say with certainty that every weekend I’ve dedicated to the sport has resulted in at least one memorable moment.

I would like to offer this segment of the Flor de Caña (FDC) website to retell your stories from the field. Anyone can contribute a tale about anything they find entertaining, amusing, hilarious, or worthy of being retold. The only thing we ask is that stories be in good taste and not speak negatively about a specific player, umpire, league official, etc. Please feel free to send your stories to carrilloda@earthlink.net for publication on the FDC website.

-David Carrillo

” The Only One that Matters”(By David Carrillo)

Every person has their own reason for participating in adult sport leagues. For some it’s recapturing that glimpse of what once was in high school or college. For others it’s the thrill of flirting with what never was. There are those that view the sport as a means of improving physical conditioning and their counterparts that see it as an excuse to get away to have a few beers.

Each guy has his own urge. I’m no different, although my fulfillment is probably less hedonistic or sadistic. To tell the truth, it’s probably more closely related to obsession. Quite simply, I need to compete.

My successes and failures on the field have only fueled my need to further compete. The thrills of victory and the pains of defeat are short lived. Moments later, my obsession feeds itself with pondering of when I can compete next and how to do it better. Family board games in my household were never “casual” experiences.

Fastpitch softball has given me an outlet to get my competitive fix. In the process, a subtle moment at the field taught me a little something about what really matters.

Many males credit their strength to attributes they learned from their fathers. I credit meaningful values in the form of character and integrity to my Dad, but without a doubt…the strongest role model in my life is my Mom.

Mom is hands down the toughest, most determined being I have ever come across. Stories of her guts and tough upbringing could fill more pages than my prose could entertain. Despite being a woman of small stature, she is a commanding presence and her “Cuban Evil Eye” still makes me turn away a challenging glare.

I am proudly a person that can’t look back on life and say if only my parents had done more or were better people or cared more. The reality is I’ve been given so much love, opportunity, and support that I can definitively say every screw-up I’ve made was solely a result of my own stupidity and audacious nature. This led to my participation in sports because I had an abundance of both so better that I be preoccupied lest I exponentially increase my screw-ups.

Dating back to little league, I can remember a familiar voice from the stands that has been a constant. The parks changed, the kids on the field got bigger, the stands grew, the stands faded away, the voice from behind the backstop…it stays the same.

“Come on, Deece!”
“Right guy, right spot.”
“This is all you, 19!” (the number I’ve worn for years that is not coincidentally Mom’s birthday.)

This brings us to Santa Fe Springs, CA on a warm Sunday afternoon July 22, 2007. My team, Flor de Caña, is playing in the NAFA A division championship game of a Southern California Independent Fastpitch League (SCIFL) tournament. Our opponents, the So. Cal Hustlers, are a team known for being scrappy and on this day they have the benefit of Jim Flanagan’s respected arm in their center circle.

Jim has dedicated a great deal of effort to promote the game of fastpitch softball. He and his wife Maddy are the brain trust behind the popular Fastpitchwest website (www.fastpitchwest.com) that reports on fastpitch softball with a slight bias on west coast happenings.

In addition to being an ambassador of the game, Jim is an outstanding pitcher whose fastpitch résumé trumps most at the ballpark. It goes without saying that as a newbie, I am without comparable fastpitch experience, achievement, or accolade of the pitcher I’ll be facing momentarily. The veteran hurler, donning his trademark #19 jersey, makes his way out to the mound and after a brief warm up, the game is underway.

Apparently back in the day, Flanagan was pretty darned good and from what I’m seeing in the on-deck circle, the guy can still pitch. We’ve got our work cut out for us today.

I make my way through my normal on-deck routine which is really nothing more than a few warm-up swings and a lot of internal monologue. (What pitches are working for you today, Flanagan? What are you throwing when you’re in trouble? Is the ump widening the plate for you on the outside pitch? Let’s see if you’re telegraphing your off-speed stuff?) After a few moments and unfortunately not enough insight, I get my chance to step into the box.

The mental checklist instinctively kicks in:

*

Clear the dirt. (You want a clean foundation to swing from.)
*

Tap the outstide part of the plate. (No a little further…we need to cover a little extra cause he’s getting the outside call.)
*

Adjust the helmet (Alright, Flanagan, it’s you and me now.)

As Flanagan peers in to his catcher’s sign and I dig into my plot of dirt, the familiar voice from the just beyond the backstop kicks in right on cue.

“Come on, 19! You can do this.”

I hadn’t even seen her settle in to the stands while I was in the on-deck box, but like so many familiar at-bats…there’s Mom, a little last minute reassurance right before go-time. (Looks like I’ve got you outnumbered now, Flanagan.)

The big hurler appears to have taken special interest in the cheer. The fascination proves too intriguing. Jim steps off the mound and with a smile asks, “Which one of us?”

I didn’t exactly turn around to see the look on Mom’s face, but survival instinct and experience have taught me to feel the “Cuban Evil Eye” without having to see it. I know, all too well, the intent look that is piercing the chain links. After an intense moment of silence (for effect ofcourse), Mom responds through pursed lips:

“The only one that matters.”

Flanagan accepted the quick come back with a smile and a chuckle before making his way back to the mound. Sharing the humor of the moment, Hustlers’ catcher Dan Roth looked up at me and said, “Hey, man. That was pretty good.”

I could only reply, “That’s Mom.” Thanks for always being there.

Editor’s note: As I said to David, he wasn’t the only Carrillo that got the best of me that day 🙂

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