CEREMONIAL FIRST “HIT”

MAX MCELHATTON

By Jim McElhatton

Four years ago, my sons, Sawyer and “Shoeless” Jackson, now 14 and 16, and I formed a barnstorming wiffle ball team, Squad 51. Since then, we have played in tournaments from New York down to Georgia. We’ve logged many thousands of miles and have lost far more times than we’ve won (though we’ve come close to stealing a tournament or two).

All along the way, what’s most important, is that we’ve spent time together. Early on in our journey, at every stop along the way, even at tournaments where we found ourselves far over our heads, the wiffle community has treated us with great respect and camaraderie.

Not long after his journey began, we played in a tournament up near Yonkers where there were a lot of teams from the Golden Stick league. When I showed up with my middle school age kids and our then team manager/driver (my leadfooted mom, Dolores) an organizer asked if we were lost. Nope, I said. We’re here to play.

By the end of the night, other teams were offering my mom adult beverages and players were taking my sons aside to show them how to scuff a ball. I don’t think we scored a run all night, but it was about as much fun as I have ever had.

My mom, who came along on trips with us, passed away not longer after that. But one day we were reminiscing and laughing about the trip. Later, she sent me an email. “We’ll always have Yonkers,” she wrote. And that's just one reason why wiffle ball is so important to me.

Here's another: two years ago, we played in a tournament in Sea Isle City, New Jersey. There had to be at least 60 teams. We did OK. I think we went 1-3. But what I remember most is tossing the ball between games to my four year old, Max. And worrying.

By then, we knew there was something amiss. He was struggling. His right side had become increasingly weak, and doctors weren’t sure why.

One week later, after what we thought was going to be a routine MRI, Max was rushed into the hospital and diagnosed with a brain tumor. He was placed on chemo. He’s now on his third treatment regimen. 

This is all you need to know about Max: After coming home from the hospital in June following two emergency surgeries, he literally couldn’t take more than a few steps unaided. But he wasn’t interested in asking why me? Instead, on his first night home, he asked us, “Heh, can we practice walking tomorrow?”

He didn’t care to look back, he just wanted to put in the work and get it all back.

Right now, he is doing much, much better.

Four days ago, he asked me to play wiffle ball. There are challenges ahead. But I believe in hope, science, medicine, faith, family and friends. I believe that through all of this, Max will be out there with us again one day soon. Not just watching, but playing on Squad 51, too. He’s got a beautiful, even swing. And I hope you all get to see that swing soon enough.

After Tim Cooke called me several weeks back asking if Max would throw out the first pitch at this weekend’s tournament, it’s hard to put in words what it meant to me and to my family. I’m so proud of him, of his brothers, too.

I also am so very thankful to the wiffle community at large for caring. So many of you, teams and players we’ve met along the way, have reached out to ask how he’s doing or have posted something nice on social media. Getting the call asking Max to throw out the first pitch was moving beyond words.

Beyond this weekend, though, I have a feeling we'll be back someday. Hang on, because he’s still only in the first grade. But give him a little time.

I know he and his brothers and I will all be out there one day playing some of you. And one other thing. You better be ready. Because this kid can hit.