Just go with it

Growing up in Denver, CO I was on a competitive youth baseball team. The league was called Southeast Denver Little League. At the conclusion of our season an all-star team was put together, and we played other all-star teams. There was a city tournament, then a state tournament, then a district tournament, and if you made it through all of those teams, a trip to Williamsport, PA to play in the Little League World Series.
We were 13 years old and won the city tournament, sending us to state. It was in Grand Junction, maybe? We stayed with host families, and I remember secretly wishing my host family was going to be populated with unusually attractive high school age daughters. It wasn't. One of my teammates got in trouble at his host family for blowing up an egg in the family's microwave. Many of my teammates got sick from eating at a restaurant called the T-Boner. It was hot and there was a lot of baseball played.
We won state, moving on to regionals which was happening in a suburb of Denver that year. Disappointing because we didn't get to travel to another state. There was an opening ceremony and I remember thinking there is no way these kids were the same age as us. They were big, had facial hair, and I think a few of them had kids already. We were not prepared for this level of competition. The season was long, it was hot, we were tired.
The first game was under the lights and some giant kid from Arizona was throwing pitches we'd never seen before. Three up, three down. Our ace was holding his own, but we were being peppered. On our heels, down a few runs, and falling apart, a short pop-up came my way. I charged in from center field and dove-rolled into the ball as it hit the ground. It bounced just before hitting my glove but as I came up to throw the ball to the infield I heard the ump cry, "He's Out!"
Inning over. Much joy. Hopes were raised.
In the dugout, pumped with new energy to face Mr. Future Major Leaguer, my teammates came up asking, "did you really catch it?" I told them the truth. The team deflated. "He didn't catch it." More evidence it just wasn't our night. My coach was pissed. We lost the spark of momentum, went on to lose that game and the next, exiting the tournament.
Lesson learned.
Since then, I've made a conscious effort to read the energy in the room, sensing the momentum, and just going with it. I've told employees and mentees the same thing. Sometimes people don't want to know the answer, don't want the truth. They just need a little hope.
". . .The pilot's on the microphone, and he’s, he's saying, 'I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my god… I'm sorry' and apologizing, and, and she looks at the man, and she, and she says, she says, she says, 'Where are we going?' And uh, and he looks at her, and he says, 'We’re going to a party. It. . . it’s a birthday party. It’s your birthday party, happy birthday, darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much. . . "
– Bright Eyes, "At the Bottom of Everything"
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