Happily Ever After

 

“Once upon a time.”

That’s how every story begins, right? But not every story ends with “happily ever after.”

That’s for fairy tales—the ones with glass slippers, talking animals, and storybook endings where everything lines up just right. Real life doesn’t work like that … and neither does 16-inch softball.

We just finished another season. We gave it everything we had. And yet—there was no trophy. No champagne. No dogpile at the plate.

The game doesn’t always give back what you gave.  

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a great story.

In fact, maybe it was something more than a story. Something more real. Something that mattered.

What we lived wasn’t a fairy tale. It was a lived fable—earned through dirt, bruises, laughs, letdowns, and moments you carry with you long after the lights go out.

The truth is, most of the best stories I’ve lived through haven’t ended the way I wanted them to. But those stories did teach me something. And that’s the thing about fables—they’re built on lessons, not endings.

This blog has never really been about triumph. If you’ve read it over the years, you already know—it’s mostly been a collection of my failures, frustrations, and setbacks.  I’ve tried to find humor in them, and with enough time and distance, I’ve tried to figure out what those moments have taught me.  Most of it has come from looking in the rearview mirror and realizing what really mattered.

It took an overwhelming amount of humility, but over time, I came to see that chasing outcomes is a game you rarely win, even when you do.

You show up, give what you got, and trust the rest will fall into place.

Loss has a funny way of redirecting your life toward exactly where you’re supposed to be. And it often doesn’t feel like a gift until years later.

That’s something the young guns on the team need to hear. The old-timers? We already know. We’ve been gutpunched, whipsawed, and blindsided more times than we can count. And somehow, we’ve always found our way through. Not always gracefully. But persistently.

But for the younger guys—listen close: life is going to hit you harder than any crushed Clincher or walk-off loss ever could. You’re going to have moments that take the wind out of you. Moments that feel unfair. Unforgiving. Unfixable.

And that’s when you rise higher.

Because every hit you take—on or off the field—shapes you. Every disappointment builds your endurance and pain threshold. Every time you lose or fall short, you gain insight. Toughness. Grit.

Do you think our opponent woke up the next morning thinking about how to grow? How to improve? How to become better people, better teammates, better men?  Maybe they did … but I don’t think so.

We did. And that’s the difference.

Trophies gather dust. They sit on shelves.

But the real stuff—the growth, the grit, the grace—you carry that with you forever. That’s the prize. That’s the legacy. You may not lift hardware at the end of every story, but if you walk away stronger and wiser, you didn’t lose a thing.

We didn’t just play the game. We took something from it. We walked away carrying more than a score—we carried the questions that make you stronger. That’s what a game can give you when it doesn’t give you a win: a reason to grow.  Not just on the diamond but in life.  

We all need to remind ourselves that sometimes you have to search for the happily ever after.  It may take some time but I promise you will find it.

As we close the chapter on summer and our season, rise up and go search for your happily ever after.

Love you all.

Rads