The regular season had finally arrived. After weeks of practice, scrimmages, and the unforgettable moment of almost not receiving my uniform, it was time to put it all together. We had everything—brand-new uniforms, energy, excitement, and hunger. But one thing we didn’t have was live-game experience.

Every game day, we’d pull up to the field in the back of Coach Gary’s pickup truck, chanting loud and proud:

“Everywhere we go, people want to know, who we are, so we tell them, we are the Dodgers, the Mighty Mighty Dodgers!”

Week after week. Game after game. That chant echoed through the park. We were living the dream—but that dream often turned into a nightmare. And as much as Gary’s pre-season talk helped me, it seemed like I earned a new speech from him every week.

Our first season was a blur, but a few things stood out.

I was still living up to the nicknames I had earned during our scrimmage games—Crybaby, Hothead, Quick Temper, Sore Loser, Quitter—they all showed up. If we lost, I cried. If someone messed up, I fussed. If I struck out, I was ready to quit. And almost every game ended with an argument between me and my teammate Davis “Man” Fisher. We were oil and water.

We didn’t win a single game that season. And yes, that meant I cried after every game.

But what people didn’t understand is that I didn’t cry because I was weak—I cried because I was ready to fight. That was my response to frustration. I had fire in me. But as Gary constantly reminded me, I needed to learn how to control that fire.

Despite all the losing, something amazing started to happen—we were getting better. Week by week, we began to look like a real team. Not just kids learning baseball—but a team learning how to fight together.

One of my proudest personal memories that season was learning how to steal bases. Coach Gary poured a lot into me, and one area he really focused on was base running. Whether we were on the field or in the truck, he shared stories and strategies. And I listened.

“If the catcher’s got a weak arm and doesn’t zip it back to the pitcher, take second. Do it on third. Heck, even steal home if you see the chance,” he would say.

He taught me how to draw attention with fake moves, how to time my runs, and when to take the green light. That investment paid off—I started to execute those steals exactly how he taught me. Gary believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.

The season ended with what felt like a championship moment. Our last game was against the best team in the league—the LaPlace A’s. We weren’t supposed to stand a chance. But that day, we didn’t lose.

We tied.

And for us, it felt like we had just won the World Series.

That final game was played at the park in Garyville, and I’ll never forget it. The Dodgers—the team they called “The Bad News Bears”—had gone toe-to-toe with the league’s best. That game lit something in us. It made us believe we could beat anyone, especially when we played as a team.

No one from our team was selected for the All-Star team that year. But trust me—the experience was the real reward.

The LaPlace Dodgers:

Romell Anthony – 1st Base & Pitcher

Armond Anderson – Shortstop & 2nd

Damon Mason – 3rd Base

David Fisher – Catcher & Pitcher

Vance Jones – Shortstop & Pitcher

Jermaine Perrilloux – Outfield

Derrick Duhe – Outfield

Willie Dupard – 1st Base & Pitcher

Jeromey Elder – Pitcher

Sebastian – Outfield

Eldridge Fobb – Outfield

—

Up Next – Episode 6: “Practice Made Us Better”

We came back the next year different. Better. Stronger. We weren’t just the team everyone laughed at anymore. And for me personally, I learned that respect isn’t something you’re given—it’s something you earn. That lesson shaped the way I carried myself from that point forward.

Let’s just say… LaPlace, Reserve and Garyville were going to see a whole new Dodgers squad.

Stay tuned.