This is a story about a face in the crowd - the crowd being the ranks of men who coach baseball. However, for the rest of our lives, this one man will always stand out, not for what he did on the field, but off.

It’s the call no parent ever wants to receive - the one that jerks you from the ordinary into a world of confusion and fear. “Brian has been taken to the hospital...we’re not sure...please come quickly.”

My husband and I were preparing to go to Raleigh, North Carolina with Brian for the biggest tournament of the fall baseball season, combining it with an “official visit” to one of the colleges. The travel and tournaments that make up the fall showcase season had been great. We made many new friends and spent great time with Brian’s fall teammates - most of who were seniors and playing their last round of baseball before the pressures of college baseball would begin. Brian had been playing for the Mid Atlantic Rookies, coached by Mike Chroniger. We were having the time of our life, seeing all the colleges and playing on some great ball fields. Brian had developed a good relationship with his coach, and was at the top of his game, mentally and physically.

The doctors at the first hospital offered us no answers and very little hope - thinking he had collapsed from bacterial meningitis. However, enough tests came back negative that they ruled that out, but still prepared us for the worst. We had to sign permission for life support to be started - a chaotic mass of papers and signatures to just keep my son, who was now in a coma, breathing. As they transferred him to the University hospital, a friend asked what she could do, who she could call for me. “Please,” I said, “call Coach Chroniger, tell him what’s happening.” Brian was transferred to University of Maryland Medical Center - still on life support, and with a poor prognosis. No one knew what was wrong - many futile guesses, hundreds of questions from doctors, and still no answers. We were numb with fear and anxiety, and the hours started slipping by as we waited for some sign from Brian that he would recover.

At 1:00 a.m. Coach Chroniger appeared at the hospital, visibly disturbed at what was happening. Brian was in isolation, but Coach just scrubbed and gowned and went right in. He bent over Brian, and started to talk to him just like on the field, all the while patting Brian’s chest for emphasis. Mike looked over at us, and told us to go get some sleep, he would stay with Brian. For the next three nights, Mike came between work and home, and stayed with Brian for hours. He brought food and drink for my family, most of whom stayed at the hospital. Mike and the team left for Raleigh that weekend, but every night we got a call in the ICU from Mike. After the tournament was over, Mike came to the hospital before he even went home.

It was five days before Brian began to come out of the coma, still undiagnosed. Mike had brought a Rookies shirt and hung it where Brian might see it when he opened his eyes for the first time. He couldn’t speak yet, because of the respirator. But when Mike came that night, there was a flicker of a smile from Brian when Coach said to “take a knee, Brew!” On day six, the respirator was removed, and slowly Brian started coming back to us. When Mike would come by, he and Brian would talk about the team, and Mike would help him sit up and get dressed, teasing him about all the cute nurses taking care of him.

The nurses and doctors knew Mike well by this time, watching him day by day, and were astounded by the time and attention he was giving to his player. Brian began to improve daily, gaining strength and mobility. He was, however, depressed and scared about his future. Again, Mike was able to step in and reassure Brian as only a coach can do - with reality and encouragement, with optimism and truth. The doctors had finally made a diagnosis of viral encephalitis, and they anticipated a full recovery in time. When Brian left the hospital, he was on the road back, determined to play baseball again.

Mike was a constant presence for us, a source of strength and encouragement in a dark time. Brian doesn’t remember much about the hospital, but he remembers his coach being there. His dad and I remember, too, and will never forget. If your baseball player is blessed to have a coach like Mike, please don’t miss a chance to thank him.

Thanks, Mike!

Bob,
First off, thanks for being willing to receive this story - it was really therapeutic to write it; although we have said many thanks I felt I wanted to let others know as well how much Mike did for us.

I'm not a professional writer; I've edited it to the best of my ability. Do you think it's too personal? I will leave the decision up to you - but it felt really good writing it!

By the way, Brian is doing just great! He was named pre-season All-State at third base here in Maryland; the Hammond Golden Bears will be highly favored to win the state title this year, and he's signed an early decision at UNC-Wilmington. There are no signs of the viral infection that almost took him; praise the Lord! Through all of this, our family has learned to value our time together, and Brian appreciates his health and the ability to play the game he loves. I know not every story has a upbeat ending (I still think of Cliff and his boys) but ours is still being written .

Thanks again - Meg Brewer

Meg – There was no chance that I would edit such a wonderful piece of journalism.
Bob