The Heavy Lift by William Klein

One of the greatest scenes in film history, in my opinion, comes from the movie “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”  Jack Nicholson’s character R.P. McMurphy, who is a patient in an insane asylum, makes a bet he can take a large sink in the center of the room, break it from its moorings, lift it and throw it out the window to escape. He tries his damndest to do it but the thing just won’t budge. He pays off his money and says, “Well, at least I tried.”

Man, life sure feels like that sometimes. We sometimes try to lift a load that seems impossible, and scratch our heads wondering what is the point of it all. We’re in that institution, wandering in a daze, doing what we’re told to do while the gentle strains of Muzak plays, going along to get along, hoping to one day break free with a liberating answer that sets us up for a greater journey. We seem to lose day after day and look for that one bright spot that offers hope. We’re chilled to the bone with the onslaught of bills, a mortgage, worry for a loved one, fearing the future and all of the above are moored to the floor of wretched misfortune.

Our “Lion” baseball team hasn’t won a game in years – so I guess you could say, “our growl is bigger than our bite.” Some said it was “eight years,” another said it was “five” and still another three. Whatever the number it’s become lore. We have a ragtag group of students who’ve never played the game. The coaches start at ground zero and literally have to tell the students which direction to run and the most basic fundamentals of the game. A coach once took that detail for granted and a player was embarrassed as he sprinted down to third base after a hit and cheered when he reached base safely only to be told he was out. It’s that bad.

I love watching these games and try to attend at least one a year. There’s always one moment that shines a light on life and puts things in perspective for me. I recently attended a game. The game started an hour late as the other team was delayed in getting there. Watching our students shag fly balls, one of our players took one to the mouth when he misjudged the ball. Ordinarily we could blame it on the sun being in his eyes, but this day it was overcast and storm clouds were brewing, and it was 42 degrees.  It felt more like football weather in the fall than baseball in the spring, and I waited for the umps to call it due to snow.

The other team arrived and broke open a five run lead in the first. “Here we go again,” I said to James our athletic director, who smiled and whispered, “We got this one. All we have to do is sit on pitches. They throw three balls to every one strike.  Watch.”  He was right and our kids were on to it. We scored three runs in the first inning. It still wasn’t enough for me.  I had to walk away and move to keep from freezing. All I had was a blanket that I keep in my car. Other spectators were wearing winter jackets, gloves and hats. I felt bad for our pitcher Kaeden whose hand was exposed to the elements and his gloved hand had a jammed finger that was still smarting. Our offense helped him out with runs.

Due to the tardiness of the other team, both teams agreed they would play for two hours or three innings, whichever came first. They scored another two runs as our team kept throwing it around the diamond and looked like the “Bad News Bears” chasing the ball and lollygagging on hits. Our coaches had the patience of Job as they just shook their heads and tried to shout out encouragement and coach them to do better.

Our pitcher started getting in a groove and shutting them down. We were able to make things happen and got more hits. The score was 9-7 in the third. All we had to do was shut them down. It was a big ask but our pitcher was pitching great and it was not out of the realm of possibility. They scored another run and runners were on third waiting for one hit to tie it and take the lead. At one point, I was ready to go, but my colleagues were there saying, “You’re the good luck charm. What if you leave and we lose?  You’ll never live that down.” 

The guilt worked. I stayed. I told my colleagues, “If we win, I’m running onto the field and tearing down the scoreboard as a keepsake.” They joked that they were right there with me. One or two of the coaches could be seen praying and making promises to God they couldn’t keep. Bases were loaded, and I couldn’t stand to watch, but I endured. The count was three and two. Kaeden took the sign, looked the guy back at third — the pitch, a swing and a miss, ballgame!

Joy of Joys.  I think I heard the “Alleluia Chorus” as the sky ripped open and a ray of sunshine shone down like a beam of light from an alien spaceship. Students rushed the mound like they’d just won the World Series and mobbed each other, popping high fives and hugging. It was a day I won’t forget and neither will the coaches. It was a heavy lift, but persistence and perseverance won out that day. I watched a video of our coach leaving a Port-o-Potty only to be hijacked by players giving him a Gatorade victory bath. 

Victory is sweet and the poetic justice of small victories is even tastier. I think of those Guardian fans who went their entire lives never seeing a winner and how sad that is. There are heavy lifts in every life, but we are surrounded by these small victories. Tap into a small victory and you can lift the vanity sink and be liberated. There’s something to be said for “trying” and victory awaits – however big or small.