Massive Dreams, Outlandish Hope: My Friend, Coach Hahne

I’ve been watching the multitude of tributes pour in on social media about my husband’s buddy and HS baseball teammate, Rob Hahne – a giant in the baseball community and a guy who became a dear friend to me in the last 15 years. I didn’t think I needed to add to the voices and I probably don't. So many touching words have already been said by those closest to him, by leagues around the state and by players whose lives were forever changed by him.

But as usual, it seems that writing is the only way I process the absolute crap show this world hands out on the regular. At least it’s the first way. Later on, God and I will have a lot of chats. There will be yelling. He’s used to it from me. In any event, I can’t seem to keep my fingers from flying across the keyboard when loss punches me in the gut. So here we are.

Steve and Rob reconnected when our boys started playing Little League and Travel ball in the area. I first met him when Steve signed the boys up for his camps and sought his expertise through private lessons. When Kyle was diagnosed with cancer, we supported Kyle’s Kamp’s events, praying for the Hahnes. Later I joined Kyle’s Kamp as a volunteer spending several days a week for many years working alongside Rob and others in the childhood cancer community.

Rob was the first person to ask me to write outside of my own blog when he wondered if I would write a monthly column for Kyle’s Kamp about my experience as a volunteer. So fueled by my love for the cause and by his belief in my writing, I kept stepping into the childhood cancer community. I kept allowing myself to fall in love with beautifully brave families and warrior children. I kept allowing my heart to break and my faith to be tested when I had to attend funerals for kids the same age as my own children.

And the reason I kept doing that was because I kept listening to the outlandishly crazy dreams and goals of Rob Hahne. I listened when he said to us, “Ok. I’m gonna throw you a curve ball. But I think we can do it.” I would stare at him with a face that said, “Well, sir, you have lost your ever lovin’ mind if you think we can pull that off”. But every time I simply couldn’t help but get caught up in the way that man believed. His belief was big and it was bold and it was contagious.

The first time I saw it was when one of my sons was taking a private hitting lesson from Rob. I was sitting in the dugout at Cub Run Elementary, barely paying attention. At one point I noticed my kid getting frustrated. Dramatic sighing, shoulders sagging, head hanging low. Rob stopped feeding him pitches, sat on the bucket of balls and called my son over to the pitcher’s mound. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Coach Hahne was looking directly into my boy’s eyes. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t wagging his finger. He was calm and measured. Soon enough, my boy turned and walked back to the batter’s box. Head high, shoulders relaxed, a peaceful, confident look on his face. Then he smacked the ball into the outfield. Again and again.

Rob Hahne could make the most dejected kid or the harshest cynic believe in impossible things. He did it by believing that his baseball players could achieve greater things than just stellar athletic skill. He did it by believing that coaches could influence their teams in ways that would serve them beyond the baseball field. He did it by believing that if you gave a bunch of kids who loved baseball a cause worth believing in, they could raise millions of dollars for pediatric cancer research.

Rob believed that dreams weren’t meant to stay in the quiet places of your heart. They were meant to be believed in with such ridiculous hope and faith that they became reality. He made countless people believe in big dreams. He made me believe, too.

Rob believed in my writing from the first time he read my words. And he told me years ago that I needed to write a book.

“Dude. About what?” I asked him. “I can’t write an entire book. I just ramble about baseball and Jesus and how my kids are on my nerves.”

“Yea. That.” he said. You ‘re gonna write about that. Being a baseball mom. And a basketball mom. And your faith. All that.”

He just said it. Like it could happen. So I wrote it. It took a long time to believe I could, but I did and now it has a publisher and is about to be sent to the final rounds of editing. I was literally days away from sending Rob the Advanced Reader Copy draft of my book that he had agreed to endorse when I got the terrible news of his passing on Thursday. A book that I absolutely would not have had the confidence to write if he had not allowed me to practice through writing columns for Kyle’s Kamp, the Northern Virginia Travel Baseball League and the American Travel Baseball Alliance.

So now this massive visionary, this consummate dreamer has left us. I picture him up in heaven’s press box. He’s looking down on all those he believed in and saying, “On the hop, guys. Let’s go.”

It’s our turn. Let’s take Rob’s audacious belief in making the impossible possible and get after it. Coach Hahne is watching and there is work to do.

Please pray for Kieran, Robert, Maddie and Kyle and all of Rob’s many friends.