The Heart of the Order

Liam Booth, two months shy of his fifth birthday and two years beyond almost dying for the fourth time, swung and missed at the first pitch I threw him. Liam swung and missed at the second pitch, and the third, too.

Actually, he really didn’t swing, he just set the bat on his shoulder and it fell toward the dirt like a freshly cut branch. Then this cuddly kid, just 36 pounds, 38 inches tall and constantly mistaken for someone’s 3-year-old brother, prepared to use the batting tee.

As Liam’s coach for the Hollywood and Highland Stars in Toluca Baseball’s Shetland Division, it was my duty to first toss three easy pitches, and if Liam or any other player missed them, then a batting tee of lightweight rubber was placed atop home plate to ensure contact.

Liam hit the ball off the tee, then ran toward third base, creating panic much the same as a lost driver heading into traffic on a one-way street, until I was able turn him toward first base. He was thrown out by 20 feet.

This brown-haired boy, fair-skinned with little cherry cheeks every grandmother wants to pinch, was born with a congenital heart defect--pulmonary atresia in medical terms. It’s an unspeakable horror in the language of a parent.

Brenda and Bill Booth of Burbank spent the better part of four years in tears or in prayer as their only child underwent four dangerous heart surgeries. Perhaps the pit of cruelty was when Liam developed a staph infection and doctors had already used up their arsenal of super-antibiotics. Bill and Brenda were told by doctors that there was nothing more they could do, that it was between Liam and God. Liam was on life support and in death’s on-deck circle.

Liam joined my team in February of this year with a donated pulmonary valve in his heart and toddler size 10 cleats on his feet. The shoes were too big, but thick blue baseball socks made them work. Not one child was aware of what Liam had gone through. The kids thought he was just, you know, short.

Liam didn’t know one child on the Stars. My son, Cole, was already friends with almost all of the 11 children on a team populated by my neighbors. Brenda Booth asked me to try to switch Liam to the Reds, where he could play with his understanding buddies, the Shaw twins. It was not an unreasonable request. But while the deal was in the works, Liam showed up at a Stars practice and had fun. The Booths said forget the trade.

I knew we had just retained a player who could teach everyone on my team--including my son--something about bravery and compassion. Cole and Liam share a passion for the cartoon “SpongeBob SquarePants” and baseball. Cole stands a foot taller and, at 6, threw a pitch clocked at 35 mph. Liam’s hardest throw goes about 12 feet and dies in the grass. After a game, they both like to take off their cleats in the park behind the field and head down the playground slide in baseball pants and socks, landing in a pile of sand.

During the 18-game season that included playoffs, Cole hit pitches so consistently, he used the batting tee only once in more than 60 at-bats. Liam strained to just hoist the bat onto his right shoulder. During the games, I moved closer and closer to Liam in an effort to get the ball in the way of his bat. My friend and coach Joe Campanella pitched to Liam with no luck either. So did spot reliever Dan Aguilera. But Liam kept hacking, showing no despair at constantly requiring the tee.

Liam’s hits off the tee usually trickled toward the pitcher. When the opposing child fumbled the ball or threw it past the first baseman, Liam would wind up on first base safe, and the Stars parents would roar. Liam scored about 15 runs during the season, and as he ran by me to the dugout, I heard the effects of a tracheotomy that was performed after the fourth surgery left his diaphragm weakened. When he breathes hard, it sounds like a leaf brushing against a window.

Liam likes to play catcher, which basically entails picking up the ball after it stops rolling and handing it to an adult helper, often his adoring Uncle Brad. When an opponent swung futilely, Liam graciously helped set the ball on the tee. He didn’t always get the same level of compassion from other players in the league. Some rushed toward home plate as he batted because, as one child put it, “he hits like a baby.” A few times, Liam’s teammates knocked off his cap, or imitated his high, raspy voice. Kids do that sort of thing.

But the teasing incidents on the Stars were infrequent. My own competitive son showed only goodwill toward Liam. Cole’s teacher will tell you he’s a leader of sorts, and I’ll brag that he’s a wonderful bodyguard of a big brother to his 2-year-old sister, Brooke. Cole has on occasion yelled at a teammate for failing to hustle, which causes his mother, my wife, Debra, and I to want to crawl under the bleachers. Cole had his worst meltdown on a day when I was not there to witness it. But according to Brenda Booth, Cole redeemed himself later. When two children snatched away the Shrek toy Liam was playing with, Cole, the enforcer, grabbed it back and handed it to his teammate.

On about the 125th pitch we threw to him--I could tell this might be the one--Liam’s bat hit the ball. Oh, yes! Oh, no! The ball spun straight back, busting Liam right in the mouth. Liam cried. I wanted to, too. Brenda says Liam was scared of hitting a pitch for about the next 40 swings. The regular season ended without Liam hitting a pitch.

Six teams entered the tournament to determine the champions of Toluca Baseball’s Shetland Division. Liam participated in the first playoff game against the Reds, smiled, failed to hit a pitch. The Stars won. Liam missed game two against the A’s because he was on vacation in San Diego. We won the game, qualifying for the championship.

From a purely strategic view, Liam’s absence allowed the Stars to run though the batting order without the fear that our littlest hitter would get out every time. From an emotional standpoint, we missed Liam. He returned for the final game, the championship against the highly skilled Dodgers, a team with a swagger and a strong lineup. But they were missing two solid players, and just maybe the stars were with us.

It was a game between intense rivals. A scoreboard can make some parents more stupid than any bottle of liquor. The Dodgers were winning, 13-7, with just two innings remaining. Before our next-to-last inning, I delivered a sermonette about the feeling I had that our bats would come alive.

I can’t say I believed my own speech. When I told them they were all champions because of their excellent behavior, well, that part was true. Liam came up to bat with two runners on base and no outs. In baseball’s harsh parlance, the Liams of the game can be rally killers. Liam missed what I estimate was the 179th pitch to him this season. But on pitch 180, a loopy toss, a thunderbolt seemed to strike the field.

I heard it, a thwap, the unmistakable sound of wood smacking the ball. For the first time, Liam whacked a pitch fair, sending the ball halfway down the third base line. The Dodgers were stunned; both runners scored. Liam ended up safe and stood atop first base like an Olympic athlete on the gold medal platform. Grown men and women cried in the stands. I gave Liam a high-five, and on the way back to the pitcher’s mound pulled my hat brim low so no one could see my eyes mist up.

The Stars, inspired by Liam’s dramatic hit, went on to win the championship, 21-19. After the final out, Liam, Cole and the rest of the Stars wound up on top of me in a child pile of pure ecstasy. In a hokey Hollywood production, Liam’s hit would have been a home run, and he would have made a sparkling defensive play to end the game. In our game, Liam swung and missed at three pitches in his final at-bat, leaving him one for 183 for thrown pitches for the season. But that one hit sent up more emotional sparks than Robert Redford’s electric home run in “The Natural.”

As parents, we tell Cole to treat everyone like he does Liam. It’s probably an unrealistic expectation, but a great goal. As parents, Brenda and Bill Booth tell Liam to keep battling. Liam will have to. When he outgrows his heart valve somewhere between the ages of 10 and 13, the doctors are going to pry him open a fifth time.

I’m looking forward to Brooke playing T-ball in a few years. Cole has already started rolling the ball to his sister, and she throws it back with a happy grunt. Liam is going to be a big brother too, with Brenda just a couple of months away from giving birth to a second son. A recent fetal echocardiogram revealed there’s no sign of the heart defect that almost killed Liam four times. I’ll bet in a few years, in the Booths’ backyard, Liam sets the ball on the tee for his little brother.