Folks sometimes get this glossy picture of Franklin HS baseball, you know? Like it’s all perfectly cut grass and effortless wins. I get it, they’re a known name around here. But I happened to see a different side of it, a real up-close look at the nuts and bolts, and let me tell you, it ain’t always as smooth as it looks from the bleachers.
How’d I get this peek, you ask? Wasn’t ’cause I was some bigshot coach or an alum with connections. Nah, my sister’s boy, my nephew, got it in his head he was gonna be the next big star for Franklin. He ate, slept, and breathed baseball. And guess who got the lovely job of driving him to every single dang practice, every conditioning session, even before the official tryouts? Yep, that was me. So, I spent a good chunk of time just… observing. Became a bit of a fixture in my old sedan in that parking lot.
What I Really Saw on That Field
And man, what I saw wasn’t just kids having a bit of fun. It was serious business. This wasn’t just about playing a game; this was an operation. Here’s a bit of what stuck with me:
- The sheer number of kids trying out. I mean, dozens upon dozens. All of them with that same hopeful, nervous look.
- The intensity of the drills. These weren’t your casual Saturday morning practice drills. These were relentless, designed to push kids to their limits, and maybe past ’em.
- The quiet talks. You’d see coaches pulling kids aside, or parents having hushed, intense conversations on the sidelines. You could almost taste the pressure in the air.
- The equipment. Some kids had gear that cost more than my first car. It showed you the level of investment, not just time, but money too, that was going into this.
My nephew, bless his heart, he worked his tail off. I watched him. He’d be out there, giving it everything. But you could also see the weight on his shoulders. Every dropped ball, every swing and miss, it felt magnified. And it wasn’t just him. Lots of those kids looked like they were carrying the hopes and dreams of their whole family on their young backs.
I remember one evening, practice ran late, sun was going down. Most kids had left. But there were still a few, just a handful, still out there. Taking extra swings, running extra sprints. One of them was that smaller kid I’d noticed before, the one who just wouldn’t quit. You gotta respect that kind of drive, even if it’s a bit crazy.
The Aftermath and What Stuck
Well, long story short, my nephew didn’t make the team that year. He was crushed, and honestly, seeing him like that was tough. My sister was upset, of course. Me? I just felt… tired. Tired from all the driving, sure, but also tired from seeing that whole intense machine up close.
So, yeah, when I hear the name Franklin HS baseball, I think of more than just the scoreboard. I think about the raw effort, the dreams that get made and broken on that dusty field, and the incredible pressure these young guys are under. It’s a whole world that most folks only see the surface of. That’s the real story, or at least the part of it I got to see. It’s not a complaint, just an observation from the sidelines, you know? Made me appreciate what those kids go through, for sure.
