It was a different season. A different time. A different mindset. Seventh grade brought a new chapter at Leon Godchaux Jr. High School — a fresh start beyond the classrooms and ballfields of my childhood friends. For the first time, we were sharing the hallways and ballfields with kids from all over St. John Parish — LaPlace, Reserve, and Garyville. New competition. New girls. New energy. But the same me — still with something to prove.

From first through sixth grade, I had been at the center of many jokes. Called a crybaby when we lost. Clowned for getting mad when the jokes turned on me. I can still hear my mom saying, “You can’t laugh at other people’s jokes and then get mad when they joke on you. You better learn how to tell jokes, or stay away from those boys.” So just like I had done with baseball, I adapted. I learned how to tell jokes and take the heat off myself. I learned how to flip it.

But on the field? That year, I wasn’t just fighting for respect — I was fighting for playing time.

The 13–14-year-old LaPlace A’s only had one team. That meant more talent, fewer roster spots, and absolutely nothing guaranteed for Damon Mason. After making the All-Star team the previous season, I came in expecting to build on that momentum. But the reality check hit hard. I found myself battling for a starting spot at 3rd base — and often fighting just to get in the game.

Our team was stacked. Originally coached by CJ Watkins — one of the founding fathers of the FORD Organization — he stepped down, and Terry Charles took over. From top to bottom, the LaPlace A’s were filled with dudes who could play. I wasn’t afraid of getting cut, but I knew I’d have to earn my way onto that dirt.

My biggest competition? Richard Martin — better known as Tricky Dick. He was bigger, stronger, and had a better bat. While I had a accuracy for an arm when throwing to first base, Trick had a better glove and a cannon of an arm— but his throws? Wild. Coach Terry Charles used to say, “One can catch, the other can throw. I should put y’all both on 3rd base and let one catch and the other throw it” That was his justification for putting Trick in the starting spot at third. And me? I found myself back on the bench — frustrated and vocal about it.

That’s when Freddy came up with the names: CB1 & CB2 — Crybaby 1 and Crybaby 2. I had gone from All-Star to side joke. But instead of crying tears, my frustration came out in attitude. And people noticed.

CJ Watkins pulled me aside and gave it to me straight: “Damon, if you don’t change your attitude, you’ll end up dead or in jail. And them white coaches in high school? They ain’t putting up with no bad attitude from a Black boy like you.”

That message got back to my parents. My dad, a man of few words, gave me the kind of warning that didn’t need repeating. My mom, though, came with wisdom from above. “Control what you can control and leave the rest to the Lord… Another man’s downfall is another man’s opportunity… Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

And then — my opportunity came.

One Saturday, a few of the starters — including Trick — skipped a game to go to an event at Holy Family hosted by St. Mary’s, a well-known all-girls school in New Orleans. Everyone had been talking about it all week. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping they’d go — because that meant I’d start. Sure enough, they left. I got the nod at 3rd base — and I showed out. Made plays. Played with fire. Played like a starter.

At the next practice, Coach Terry Charles called it out: “Some of y’all want the glory, but ain’t showing up. Meanwhile, Damon showed up and balled out. That’s the kind of effort we need.”

From that day on, I earned my starting spot — not because I was the best, but because I was the most accountable, the most consistent, and the most coachable. That season, we won the league championship. And once again, I was selected to the FORD All-Stars 13–14 age group for the Dizzy Dean Louisiana State Tournament.

My mom was right: “When your opportunity comes, make sure they see why you belong.”

Next episode: Even as an All-Star, I still had to prove my worth.