It was August of 1999 - tournament season. We were being visited by Dutch umpire Erick Barkhuis, so all ready the stage was set for a special evening. Erick took the dish, and I was his partner in the two-man crew in a Little League tournament game by the ocean in quaint little Narragansett, Rhode Island. The summer air hung heavy on a hot and humid evening. The mosquitoes were feasting on the fresh European blood Erick and his family supplied. Luckily we were able to counterattack with chemical warfare against the airborne beasts.

Now, I was all ready nervous. It was the first time I ever worked with Erick. I wondered about all the possibilities for miscommunication. My fears were laid to rest after the pregame conference went extremely well with Erick. He seemed far more articulate in English than most Americans, especially baseball English.

As the game began, it seemed all would go well. Erick was a complete professional, his mechanics nearly flawless and his on-field communication predictably superb. The home side was clearly establishing themselves and jumped out to a staggering lead. It looked as though this was going to be a blow-out.

It was in the bottom of the fourth. The home team was ahead 12-3. The visitors looked beaten. With a runner at 2nd base, a hit was all the home team needed to end the game by the ten run rule. With two outs their best hitter slowly sauntered to the plate.

You could just tell that the visitors were doing everything they could to keep this runner from scoring. Their determined faces looked like they were in the battle of their lives. Warriors, nearly beaten - on their last surge before facing death.

The pitcher was sweating larges beads of nervousness from every pore. He almost visibly shook as he concentrated on getting the ball in the strike zone. He wanted strikes. Mostly because a couple of wild pitches could end the game easily. He wanted to stay alive. It was a basic instinct for survival. An innocent celebration of man's uncivilized nature. Survival of the fittest.

The pitcher readied himself and delivered the ball.

"Strike!", Erick bellowed. Well, it was more of an inarticulate sound of authority, but everyone understood it to mean strike.

The shaking and sweating pitcher now had a little more confidence. He was ahead of the batter now. He faked the runner back to second base after taking the return throw from the catcher.

A little more quickly now, the nervous pitcher was in a groove, he got right back on the rubber and readied himself to deliver again. He kicked his leg and let it go.

"Strike!" Erick exclaimed again. Well, it was that inarticulate sound again. A noise that is indistiguishable from any other baseball sound. One that clearly says, "Strike!"

Now Mr. Nerves, our pitcher, was really confident now. He looked far more relaxed as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jersey. He looked the runner back again. These kids just love to run. That pitcher would have none of that. He was fighting back.

He set himself, kicked his leg and threw.

PING! The batter hit a screaming grounder to the 2nd baseman.

This team had been fighting with all their might all inning long. They made spectacular plays to keep themselves in the game. They worked hard. To have it all end like this would crush their little spirits. They played well, the other team was just playing better. To lose by the mercy rule would just be a shame. The courageousness was astounding. Dirty, exhausted and down to their last breath they would not give up.

The screaming grounder ricocheted, hopped up off the grass and smacked the poor 2nd baseman right in the face. The ball rolled into right field as the poor youngster grabbed his mouth and fell to the ground too shocked to shout or even cry.

The runner on second base was off with the hit. As he rounded third he noticed the 2nd baseman was down and hurt. He stopped.

This young man was the winning run for the home team. He could've scored easily. And nothing prevented him from scoring, it was well within the rules and his right. But what stopped him?

Was it an instinct to do the right thing? Perhaps it was the presence of sportsmanship in his mind? Or maybe it was a hint of brilliance. Whatever it was, it was truly wonderful to see.

After making sure the 2nd baseman was all right (he had a fat lip but no permanent damage) I made my way to the third base coach. "Coach," I said, "what this young man just did is better than any win."

Now the rest of the game played out like a storybook. The visitors got the third out before giving up the run. These kids, at one point so hopeless, fought their way all the way back from the clutches of defeat. They were one good deed away from going home early, and they came back and nearly tied the game.

The game ended in the sixth inning, the way it should. Home: 12 Visitor: 11.

One team found courage, dignity and the value of fighting until the end.

The other team was rewarded a much-deserved victory and the right to progress on to the championship event.

But there's one young man that has convinced me to have great hope and faith in our youngsters today. They are good people, they will be even better adults. They have integrity, honesty, kindness and every other good quality we can imagine within their potential. It is us as adults that must know where to look for it, learn to bring it out of them, nurture it and watch them blossom into responsible, caring and moral adults.

In my opinion, that young runner was the champion of the summer. Thank God for children like him.