The Most Important Least Important Thing (In Sports, And Life)

The Phillies season ended last Thursday on a play that will haunt highlight reels for a long (long) time.

But like so many things in baseball - there was a bigger than baseball lesson inside of it.

If you weren’t glued to your couch, allow me to share this, because it’s kicking my butt.

Extra innings. Bases loaded. Two outs.

A true win or go home moment.

And, maybe its because the Phillies are the Phillies, but - the pitch went out, the batter made contact, and an awkward grounder rolled to the pitcher.

He bobbled the pickup.

Runners were all sprinting on contact.

The pitcher’s hand picked up the ball.

The pitcher picked up his head.

Home base was closest.

He locked eyes with the catcher.

Which is to say, he failed to see the catcher, who was pointing - with clear line of sight - to tell him to throw the ball to first base for the still easy out.

(I’d put the picture here but I don’t want to look at it again.)

He threw home from 2/3 the distance that he normally throws.

Where he regularly has precision within a fraction-of-an-inch, at full-speed too.

And this time the throw was high and outside.

It took a full extension from the catcher to bring it down.

Under the catcher’s raised arm, the runner crossed the plate.

Game over.

The home team went wild.

The away team was going home.

Heartbreaking way to lose a series.

On a Little League fielder’s failed choice.

Even if the City of Brotherly Love doesn’t always live up to tagline, the first thing that happened after we all watched the pitcher, Orion Kerkering, have his soul leave his body in embarrassment on national TV, was Phillies coach Rob Thomson coming to get his attention straight away.

Thomson would say after the game, “He just got caught up in the moment a little bit. Coming down the stretch, he pitched so well for us. I feel for him because he's putting it all on his shoulders. But we win as a team and we lose as a team.”

Kyle Schwarber, National League homerun leader and all-round team player said, in his post-match interview, ““One play shouldn't define someone's career. I've had tons of failure in my career. It's just the way it is, you have to learn from it, have to be better for it, and I don't think that's going to define his career at all. Blip on the radar right now.”

Kerkering later recounted what the whole locker room told him too, “Just keep your head up, it's an honest mistake. It's baseball. S*** happens. Just keep your head up, you'll be good for a long time to come. It's not my fault. We had opportunities to score. Just keep your head up… Means a lot. It shows they care a lot. It just means everything, for sure.”

Sports really are the most important thing in the moment - and the least important thing pretty much without argument - leading up to, and away from those singular moments.

They’re just entertainment.

Sometimes entertainment sucks.

Yet, a whole city, including all of its suburbs, and a whole speck of an odd corner of the known universe can grieve a single lousy play as one.

And when we give ourselves permission to grieve a grand-scheme-of-thing meaningless baseball game together, we’re practicing something we really ought to carry over to the rest of our lives: the ability to acknowledge the inevitability of occasional failure, feel it fully, and not forget that it doesn’t define you.

Which is why sports are the most important, least important thing.

If that play isn’t going to define Orion Kerkering’s life,

If all those players and coaches said exactly what they would have needed to hear in that moment,

Then there’s probably some stuff in your life you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself for either.

I know that reminder hit me extra hard in the day after the loss.

Hard enough to write this down.

If one play won't define Orion Kerkering's career, then whatever you're beating yourself up for probably won't define yours either. Keep your head up. Tell people you care when their heads are down. It means everything.