Sooner or later, it could really happen. It's the stuff of novels and movies.

Big, big game, like a league championship or a tournament final. Two outs. Bottom of the last inning. Bases loaded. Down one. Tying run at third. Winning run at second. Their best pitcher is on the mound. Coming to bat for the first time ever with the outcome of the game literally in his hands is …?My son.Yup. It's him and I am going to watch his at bat from the third base box because I am his coach and this is my team.I have played out this scenario a hundred times in my head as to how to best prepare him for this situation. I have it narrowed down to three choices.A. Say nothing to him or just give him a quick, "Let's go." He doesn't need the pressure of his father advising him what to do with the game on the line. Besides, I then take any responsibility away from me and put it all on him. Isn't that how it should be?B. Go over and talk to him. Remove the pressure. Tell him to give it his best shot and if he makes an out it's ok, I will still love him anyway.C. Go over and tell him to see himself hitting a line drive. "Believe that you can win this game for us." The power of positive thinking will help him get the hit we need.There have been times during sleepless nights I have envisioned both sides of this game's outcome.We winHe gets both runs in with a line drive single to center. His teammates call out his name and rush at him across the field as our first base coach lifts him up to his shoulders. I cry tears of joy. I watch the celebration in front of me and I feel my pride run right out of the top of my baseball cap. He and I finally find each other through the crowd and we embrace until we are both left breathless. I whisper, "You did it son." into his ear. The exhilaration continues. It's a magical moment that will be retold in stories over dozens of future family dinners. An Ice cream sundae after the game puts a cherry on top of the night. Victory is ours.We loseHe made the last out of the game. The other team storms the mound in celebration. You see him drop his head. He almost gets pushed over by one of their players who rushes across the diamond to his jubilant team. I have prepared all of the baseball clichés for this moment. If he hit the ball and made an out, I will say, "It's ok. You put the ball in play and that's all we can ask for." If he struck out swinging, I can say, "Don't worry about it. You gave it your best shot. You went down swinging. If he looks at a call third strike, all I can say is, "Get em' next time, bud." Right now to him, that's like telling a blind person if you open your eyes tomorrow you will see. By the way, even if I think it's true, never will I say,"You got robbed by the ump. That ball was a foot outside." No matter what I say none of it matters. He's crushed by his failure. The tears roll down both sides of his face. Later we will silently poke at our melting ice cream next to a group of giggling middle school girls at Annie's Ice Cream. No one else from our team shows up. Defeat feels worse than death.So, let's go back to the choices. They may look good, but they all have consequences.A. If he gets the hit, this is the best A. If he gets the hit, this is the best choice. If not, so what? It's on him because I absolved myself from all responsibility. Then again, I might wonder why did I send him up there in the most difficult situation in his entire, ten years of life without at least saying something more encouraging? Was he thinking, "Dad, can you give some help, here?" and I let him go it alone?B. This choice is good for compassion, but it reeks of doubt and failure even before he steps into the batter's box. The words, "If you make an out," sends an alarm to him. He thinks I have little confidence that he will succeed. Besides, he knows you will still love him anyway even if he fails so why say that at all?C. Great choice if his line drive wins the game, but what do I say if he doesn't come through? On the other hand, the power of positive thinking can definitely lead to success on the field as well as in life. Its prescription is solid. It just doesn't always turn out that way, however, in baseball, or in life for that matter. Will it now?I choose letter C. But here's the key. I speak softly with a hand upon his shoulder, looking him straight in his eyes. I do not hammer the words, "Get a hit," into his head like an angry drill sergeant.Now let's go back to the game.He gives me a nod and marches up to the plate. He doesn't know and he doesn't need to know that my stomach will turn on every pitch and I promise myself he will never see the angst upon my face or hear the pitch by pitch talk with him that I'm going to have inside my head.The first pitch is thrown. Strike one is called. He glances quickly at me.Oh, my God! I always tell you that the first pitch might be the best pitch you will see, so take a hack. That was right down the middle! You look worried now because you remembered I told you that.Second pitch. In the dirt, blocked by the catcher. He glances at me, looking a little more confident.Damn, If that got by the catcher, we would have tried to score the run from third. We either tie the game or lose, but it would remove the burden of the at bat from your shoulders Maybe the pitcher will throw a wild pitch.Third pitch. He swings and misses. He does not look my way.No! Don't swing at a ball above your hands. I taught you that too! Now you look like you're in panic mode.Fourth pitch. Same spot. This time he takes it for ball two. He looks back at the pitcher.Whew. You looked like you wanted to swing at that one. Good eye, buddy.Fifth pitch. He swings and foul tips the ball under the catcher's legs. He runs a few steps up the line thinking the ball might be fair.Wow. That was close to being 'ball game.' C'mon now son. See yourself ripping that line drive. See it! Drive it right over second base. You can do this!Sixth pitch. Just outside, ball three. He looks at me, twisting his hands around the bat handle. A huge groan of complaint is directed at the home plate umpire by the other team's fans for not calling it a strike.That was too close to take, but you did. So here it is. 3-2 count, bases juiced. Game on the line. We practiced just this scene yesterday in the batting cage. You smiled at me and then ripped a shot right past my ear. Please don't swing and miss at ball four. That will be something we won't want to ever remember.The seventh pitch. It's heading right down the middle. He cocks his hands back to the load position and ….Two hours after the game, he's upstairs playing video games.I'm drinking a beer downstairs, replaying that final pitch over and over again in my head.If you feel disappointed that I didn't tell you the outcome of my son's at bat, I did. Reread the previous two sentences.Happy Father's Day to all, especially to those of you who stand in that third base box watching your son carry his bat up to the plate.