Warming Up
Wednesday night it was 27 degrees on the field.
The benches were cold.
The air was sharp.
Every breath felt like it had edges.
But the field was alive.
David was out there moving, throwing, laughing. The kind of smile that doesn’t need to be explained. The kind that reminds you exactly why you’re standing in the cold in the first place.
And somehow, that was enough to keep me warm.
While he practiced, Asher settled in with a tablet.
Jacob and I walked out to the bullpen.
Just the two of us.
Glove to glove.
Working fundamentals.
Nothing flashy. Just the rhythm of catch and release. The quiet sound of the ball finding leather. Over and over again.
I stood there watching one son on the field…
…while throwing with another.
And for a moment, everything lined up exactly the way it was supposed to.
Last night it was Jacob’s turn.
Warmer this time. Still cool, but forgiving.
This time I had David and Zoey with me in the bullpen.
I wasn’t expecting Zoey to join us.
But she did.
And she had a blast.
David and I worked on accuracy. He’s already throwing further than he did last year. There’s a small hop he adds when he tries to put more into it. We’ll work through that. It will take time.
But the strength is there.
The willingness is there.
That’s what matters.
Today is work.
End of week.
Touchpoints. Leadership calls. Conversations about where we are and where we’re going.
It’s also the last day one of my managers reports to me before she moves on to do great things for another team.
And on Monday, her team comes back under me.
Change.
Again.
My job is simple in theory.
Set direction.
Create space.
Demand growth without breaking people.
Be there when they need support.
Step back when they don’t.
Give them the room to make the decisions they should already be capable of making.
Do it quickly.
Do it carefully.
Do it while everything around us continues to shift.
Change has been constant.
Three straight years of it.
The business is growing. Evolving. Adjusting.
And analytics sits right in the middle of all of it.
We see everything.
The good.
The gaps.
The strain.
Backlogs grow. Work piles up. The demand never really slows.
That creates security.
It also creates pressure.
And Monday is already waiting.
Dual role again. Director and manager.
A full week of baseball. Five nights if the weather holds.
New expectations. New rhythms. New demands.
And a new plan.
This week, I’ll take all four kids to practice.
Every night.
Give my wife a few hours of quiet.
A break from the noise. The motion. The constant pull.
She’ll be at the games when they start.
But right now, she deserves the space.
There’s more coming too.
Baby chicks in two weeks.
A chicken run to build.
A garden to plan.
Spring doesn’t arrive quietly around here.
It gets built.
And somewhere in all of that, streaming finds its place.
Maybe weekends for a while.
Maybe when the house finally settles and the day gives back a little time.
Adjustments.
That’s the season.
But all of that is Monday.
Tonight is different.
No practice.
Dinner out.
A little prep for tomorrow.
Jacob on the field again at 9 a.m., chasing it one more time.
Leadership at work.
Leadership at home.
It’s not as different as it sounds.
And when the house finally settles tonight, when the bags are by the door and the gloves are where they’re supposed to be, when the schedule is set and the alarms are ready, there’s a quiet moment where it all comes into focus.
Not the stress.
Not the logistics.
Not the weight of what’s coming next.
Just the realization that this is it.
Cold fields. Warm hands. Kids growing faster than the seasons can keep up. Work that matters and a home that matters more.
None of it waits.
None of it slows down.
And somehow, that’s the point.
You don’t get ready for it.
You just show up, again and again, and hope you’re paying attention while it’s happening.
This is where I’m ending the week.
Still a dad. Still figuring it out.
Choosing the moments that warm you, even when the air is cold.
Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands.
I’ll see you next time.
