The end of a baseball season is never easy.
No matter how it ends, you always find yourself looking back. The wins, the losses, the stretches where everything clicked, and the stretches where nothing seemed to go right. But what always hits me the hardest is something bigger than the scoreboard.
At every level of this game, there are players walking off the field for the last time.
In high school, some never play again. In college, eligibility runs out, guys move on, enter the portal, get drafted, or head into the next chapter of life. Whether you realize it in the moment or not, for some players, that last out of the season is the last time they’ll ever put a uniform on.
And when that day comes for my boys, I know I won’t handle it well.
Because watching them play baseball has been one of the greatest joys of my life.
From throwing wiffle balls in the basement after long workdays when they were kids, to sitting in the stands this year watching them compete at the college level, I’ve loved every minute of it. This Illinois State Redbird team made this season even more special.
This group had something you don’t always see.
On paper, the season spoke for itself. Over 30 wins, something the program hadn’t done in a while. But what stood out more than anything was the way they played for each other.
The dugout mattered. The guys who weren’t in the lineup were the first ones up cheering. There were no hidden agendas, no hoping someone else failed so they could get their shot. Just a group of guys who wanted to win together.
As a parent, you notice that stuff right away. And as someone who has built teams in business, you appreciate it even more. Culture isn’t something you talk about. It’s something you see in the little moments when nobody is paying attention.
This team had it.
And off the field, it was just as special.
The parents were incredible. It honestly felt like our travel ball days all over again. Hanging out before games, staying after, talking about life, work, our kids, and everything in between. Those 57 games were more than a schedule. They were the highlight of my year.
With some of these players moving on, that changes. We won’t all be in the same place next season. But a lot of those relationships aren’t ending. They’re just moving into a different chapter. We’re already talking about summer barbecues and getting together again.
That’s one of the unexpected gifts baseball gives you. Lifelong friendships built around a game.
There were too many moments to count this year, but a few stand out.
The Redbirds finished 33–24 and brought 30‑plus wins back to the program. That alone says a lot about the group.
Ryan came out of the gates in a way you couldn’t script. First at‑bat of the season. First at‑bat as a Redbird.
His season wasn’t easy after that. He battled nagging injuries all year, the kind that don’t show up in a box score but make everything harder. Still, he fought through it, earned honorable mention All‑Conference, and took home MVC Newcomer of the Week along the way. I know him well enough to know he’s already thinking about next year, getting stronger and more prepared.
Brayden put together one of those seasons you don’t forget.
And then the record.
Breaking the single‑season hits record and finishing with 92 hits. Watching the team save the ball for him and present him with an engraved bat is something I’ll remember forever.
As a dad, those are moments you don’t take for granted.
From the fall, you could feel something with this team. After the first couple scrimmages, it was obvious they had something special.
They came out hot. Won eight or nine in a row early and looked like they were going to be a problem for a lot of teams.
But baseball has a way of evening things out.
Injuries hit the pitching staff hard. Four or five guys who were throwing really well went down, and you could feel the impact. You always wonder what a season could have looked like with a full roster.
Then came the grind of conference play.
At one point, the bats went quiet and the team dropped three straight series. Two wins and seven losses in that stretch. In baseball, that can change your entire season.
That’s where the mental side of the game shows up.
Slumps happen. Great players go through them. Great teams do too. The difference is how you respond.
By the time the conference tournament came around, we were seeded sixth and had everything working against us.
The opening game was against the host team at Murray State. Delay after delay pushed the game back five and a half hours. Their players stayed close to home. Our guys sat in a hotel 30 minutes away, waiting, guessing, trying to stay ready.
The game finally ended around 1:30 in the morning.
A few hours later, they were back on the field for an elimination game.
And in both games, they had the lead late.
That’s baseball.
The margins are small. The difference between advancing and going home can be one pitch, one swing, one moment that doesn’t go your way.
The game has changed.
College baseball today brings a lot more uncertainty than it used to. Between the transfer portal, NIL opportunities, and the draft, you just don’t know what a roster will look like year to year.
Who’s coming back?
Who’s moving on?
Who’s about to get an opportunity somewhere else?
As a parent, you learn to appreciate the moment a little more because of that. Nothing is guaranteed. Every season is its own chapter.
Through all of this, one thing remains true.
Baseball is still the only game where you can succeed 30 percent of the time and be considered great.
Failure is built into it.
So are slumps. So are hot streaks. So are moments where everything feels easy and moments where nothing does.
It’s a mental game more than anything. If you can’t handle failure, if you can’t reset, if you can’t move on from the last at‑bat, the game will find a way to beat you.
The best players have short memories.
I think about that line from Ted Lasso about having the memory of a goldfish. It sounds simple, but it’s real. In baseball and in business, you can’t carry yesterday into today.
You move on. You adjust. You show up again.
And just like in business, no one does it alone.
The best teams support each other. Great leaders set the tone. The guys at the end of the bench matter just as much as the guys in the spotlight because everyone is pushing toward the same goal.
That’s where winning really comes from.
As the season ends, you feel it a little more than you expect.
Not just the results, but the relationships. The routine. The conversations. The moments that don’t show up in stats.
Baseball has given me more than I ever could have asked for. It gave me a way to connect with my boys, a way to teach lessons that carry far beyond the field, and a perspective on life and business that I use every day.
And even though this season is over, the long game keeps going.
Because in baseball, in business, and in fatherhood, you don’t measure everything by a final score.
You measure it by the effort, the growth, the people around you, and the way you keep showing up.
And just like always, we’ll be ready for the next at‑bat.