Photo Credit : Dennis Zimmerman
My initial correspondence with Roy Cardin came 15 years ago, when he and his dear friend Big Daddy teamed up to help bail me out of a jam. The line from the original Top Gun, ” Son, your ego is writing checks you can’t cash,” describes my situation leading up to our Panther Palooza. I was still struggling to feed my kids when I committed to paying for the new outfield fence, and Roy Cardin went out and sold some half chickens that day.
While we were recently visiting with Big Daddy at Roy Cardin Field, he walked me through the day long process that he and his dear friend had performed more times than they could count. Later that same day, Amy Gaskins, Roy’s middle daughter agreed to find us some more stories about her late father.
Let the Love Flow :
The below Sabrina Foltz sent to me about dad. I am still working on my stuff, and my sister is gonna maybe write something and my daughter too. Thank you for including my dad 🥹
When I think about what Roy meant to me, I see so much more than just a softball coach. Roy served as my pitching coach. However, he had a much greater effect on my life than simply teaching me how to pitch. I remember all of those Sunday afternoons in the batting cage, practicing pitching and spending countless hours together. At the time, I probably did not realize how much those afternoons meant to me or how fondly I would recall them. Today, however, they are among the memories I hold most dear; the sound of the ball hitting the glove, the seemingly endless repetition, the correction, the encouragement, and Roy always pushing me to be the best I could be. Roy believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. He pushed me during difficult times and showed me that becoming a better player requires patience, perseverance, and being present even when you do not want to be. Roy taught me far more than just pitching lessons. He devoted his time and energy to helping me to grow both as a player and as a person.
While those Sunday afternoon practices in the batting cage were centered around softball, they became lasting memories that remain with me still today. Roy will always remain an important influence in my life and one of many individuals who have contributed to shaping who I am.
Thank you, Sabrina !
Now, how about from the efforts of Amy!
The Coach Who Made Me a Ballplayer
When I think back on my years playing softball, there are games, wins, losses, teammates, and countless hours spent on a ball field. But some of my clearest memories aren’t of a big game or a championship. They’re of Sunday afternoons from 3:00 to 5:00 at the Shenandoah ball parks with my favorite coach, Roy.
It didn’t matter if it was hot, cold, or even Mother’s Day. If it was Sunday afternoon, there was a good chance we were at the field. At the time, I probably didn’t realize how special those hours would become. Now, they’re some of the memories I treasure most.
Roy was the kind of coach who pushed you because he knew you were capable of more. He didn’t let you quit when something was hard, and he certainly didn’t let you feel sorry for yourself. He taught me to fight harder, dig deeper, and never give up.
One of my favorite memories with him started with a bet at practice.
One day, Roy looked at me and told me he could outrun me. I remember thinking there was absolutely no way. The deal was simple: if I beat him, he had to buy the entire team ice cream from Karen’s. If he beat me, we had to practice for another hour.
I was so confident.
I remember standing there thinking, This is going to be so easy.
What I didn’t know was that Roy was surprisingly fast for his age.
We took off, and suddenly this easy race wasn’t so easy anymore. I ran as hard as I could and managed to beat him by about half a step. Half a step!
But a win was a win.
Roy kept his word. He took all of us to Karen’s for ice cream. I’m sure he knew exactly what he was doing when he made that bet. It wasn’t really about who was faster. It was about making practice fun, giving us something we’d laugh about, and creating a memory that would stick with us long after we stopped playing.
And it did.
But my memories with Roy started long before that race.
I was always younger than my group of friends, and all I wanted was to play softball with the “big girls.” I didn’t care that I was smaller or younger. In my mind, I belonged on that field with them.
My parents weren’t so sure.
I remember them telling Roy that I was still too little to play with the older girls. Roy had a solution.
“Put her on the field,” he said. “If she stops a ball, she can play for me.”
I was only six or seven years old.
They put me at shortstop, and Roy hit a ball at me. And when I say he hit it at me, he hit it at me.
That ball came screaming.
It hit me.
Everything in me probably wanted to cry, but I wanted to play with those girls more than I wanted to cry. So I scooped the ball up, threw it to first base, and stood there, determined not to let a single tear fall.
Roy walked up to me.
“See you at the next practice, baby wolfe”
That was it.
I had earned my spot.
Looking back, that moment says so much about the coach Roy was and the player he helped me become. He gave me a chance when I was little. He challenged me instead of babying me. Most importantly, he saw something in me.
Maybe it was determination. Maybe it was stubbornness. Knowing me, it was probably a little bit of both.
Whatever he saw, he gave me an opportunity to prove myself.
Those Sunday afternoons at the Shenandoah ball parks became such a huge part of my childhood. At the time, they were simply softball practices. I couldn’t have known that years later, I would look back and realize I was learning lessons that had very little to do with catching, throwing, or hitting a ball.
Roy taught me that getting knocked down didn’t mean you were finished.
You picked the ball up and made the throw.
He taught me that being the smallest or the youngest didn’t mean you didn’t belong.
You proved that you belonged.
He taught me that when something seemed difficult, you didn’t back away from it.
You fought even harder.
And every once in a while, he taught me that if your coach challenges you to a footrace with an extra hour of practice on the line, you better run like your life depends on it.
I have so many memories of Roy that I could never fit them all onto one page. Some make me laugh, some make me emotional, and some I probably didn’t fully appreciate until I got older.
But I understand them differently now.
Especially now that I’ve become a coach myself.
I understand that a great coach doesn’t just teach a player how to play a sport. A great coach sees potential in a kid and finds a way to pull it out of them. They know when to encourage you, when to challenge you, and when to hit a ball straight at a stubborn six- or seven-year-old shortstop just to see what she’s made of.
Roy helped shape the softball player I became, but his influence went far beyond softball.
He taught me to be tough.
He taught me to compete.
He taught me not to give up.
And he taught me to believe that I belonged on the field.
