We were district champions.

We earned it. These kids competed all summer and grew together as a team. Walking into the state tournament, nobody in that dugout doubted what was possible.

Then came the sixth inning of the elimination game.

We were up 6-3, with one out. We had it. And then it slipped away.

I watched these kids walk off that field with their heads down. Tears. Silence. The kind of quiet that fills a dugout after a loss that hurts in your chest. I stood there and looked at them and I knew something most coaches know in that moment.

There was nothing to say.

Not because I didn't care. Because I cared too much to pretend words were going to fix what they were feeling. In that moment I just kept reminding myself, there isn't much I can say that will help these boys feel any better. So as coaches, we let the moment take over. We came together, broke the huddle, and walked off.

Some moments you just have to let sit.

On the ride home, I looked at my son and said the only thing I knew to be true.

This is part of the journey.

I've been here before. In this exact situation. I still remember losing 1-0 to Cranston West in the state championship in 1998. I remember it like it was yesterday, the silence after the final out, the long ride home, the feeling that the season ended too soon.

That loss was part of my journey. And this one is part of my son's, and every one of his teammates.

It's hard to learn when you're winning. Those games fade. You remember the championship photo, the scoreboard, the celebration. But the details blur together over time.

The losses stay sharp.

I can tell you the exact score of every tough loss I've ever been part of. I can tell you the inning, the situation, what the weather felt like. Those moments carved something into me that the wins never could. They taught me how to compete harder, prepare better, and come back stronger.

That's what this game does when you let it.

As a player and a coach, you need to take what this game gives you, good or bad. The best are always learning.

The wins build your confidence. The losses build your character. You need both, but only one of them stays with you.

What you felt walking off that field is real. Don't push it away. Let it hurt for a little while. That feeling means you cared. It means you competed. It means the game matters to you.

Then use it.

This won't be the last time you're in a moment like this. Not in baseball. Not in life. There will be other sixth innings. Other leads that slip away. Other moments where everything you worked for feels like it came apart in minutes.

The question was never whether those moments would come. The question is what you do with them when they do.

Thirty years from now, some of you will still remember this game. You'll remember the score. You'll remember the inning. You'll remember exactly how it felt.

And if you let it, you'll remember what it gave you too.

This is part of the journey.

This won't be the last time.

But how you handle it starts right now.

Help me keep more kids in the game. If you found this helpful, please forward it to another parent or coach.

Thanks for being here. See you next week Inside the Dugout.

-Coach Steve-

Steve Holmes
Founder, Inside the Dugout
2006 MLB Draft | All-American | Youth Coach | Dad