Bonded Over Baseball

They met through cancer and bonded over baseball. They were both ballplayers before the diagnosis.

Both twelve years old. You can picture them, can't you? Running the bases? Taking cuts? Maybe having a catch before the game? Long-tossing, yes, the way the big boys do. Caps tucked down over the forehead, shielding the sun from round innocent eyes. Swaying with their throws. They're trying hard not to smile because they want to be cool like the big boys.

But they can't help it. Boy, do they love baseball.

You know that look, don't you? The snapshot of American youth.

Sammy Bradly and Noxah Palomo posed for that picture many times. Before they knew about worry. Before they saw the face of worry, worn by their mothers. They tried so hard to hide it, especially when they'd come back into the room after whispering with the doctor. The forced smiles. Eyes bloodshot, smeared red by the tears they had rubbed away. Soldier moms.

Before the leukemia.

Fast friends, they became, without cursing the irony of time. They didn't speak of the clock that was somewhere in that hospital unit. The figurative one threatening all of those beautiful children. That despicable clock that seemed to be set way, way too soon and marked the face of the enemy.

They became fast friends and soon best friends in a way that went beyond similar circumstance and even baseball. Kismet? As good a word as any to describe the birth of our most cherished relationships, the great blessings bestowed to us in the reflective form of warmth and strength. They swapped courage and support, without consciously playing the roles. Some days the other might lean a little harder, and they did as each other needed. Angels in the flesh.

But boy, did they love baseball. What a lovely diversion to the heaviness. The perfect sing-songy topic for two boys. Or two men. The curse of the gender sometimes is the propensity to suppress feelings, so no matter the age, it seems, the male will speak through baseball as much as about it.

They sat side by side many times watching ballgames in the cancer unit at Nemours/Alfred I. duPont Hospital for Children. Six months is a long time in kid years. They shared the Phillies the way they shared the X-Box in the room.

Sammy took Shane Victorino. (He called him, you know, right there on his hospital phone to wish him well during his treatments. And can't you imagine a little boy's thrill? Shane Victorino? The Shane Victorino who hit the grand slam off of C.C. Sabathia in the Division Series against Milwaukee? In '08, the year the Phillies won it all?)

Noxah took Chase Utley.

And they rooted for both the way they rooted for each other. And they shared everything. On the rare occasion, proximity surely bore moments of bickering. But they never lasted. They knew never why they felt it. Just that they did. Sound familiar? Except they pushed through quickly, so those rare occasions never became rifts, because best friends don't fight over toys. Because boys who fight the same AML Leukemia don't waste time on pettiness.

And by the way, no one told them that. Instinctually they just did, walking arm and arm on that higher plane. Fighting cancer back to back, foxhole-style.

Two boys, dear friends. Just like in the movies, someone remarked. Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.

Except they were men. And these are boys.

And Bucket Lists aren't for boys.

And suffering shouldn't be, either.

But Sammy and Noxah were definitely foxhole friends.

Baseball brothers, they'd surely prefer.

And because they were baseball brothers, Sammy had to do something for Noxah. Everything had seemed wonderfully happy, just recently. Cancer-free, Sammy had gone back to school at the March. Soon both of the boys were baseball again. But Noxah had a setback.

A relapse.

Sammy cried all night the night his mother told him the news. But sorrow for his friend soon turned into determination to help his friend. A bright boy, too well-versed in science and medicine for his age, Sammy knew what his mother meant when she said Noxah needed a bone marrow transplant. He knew the consequences. He knew the odds in finding a match.

He knew what he just had to do, and so he spearheaded a bone marrow drive this past weekend at the perfect setting: a ballfield.

They came in groups on a humid Sunday, beginning at 10 a.m., paying no mind to thunderstorms that rolled through intermittently. They came and they ate hot dogs and pretzels and they threw baseballs at the dunk tank where Sammy sat perched with a smile and they went into the indoor field and they filled out forms and they swabbed the inside of both of their cheeks and placed the sample in a packet held open by one of the many volunteers.

In all, 289 people passed through the Newtown-Edgmont Little League Fields in Newtown Square, Pennsylvania, a leafy suburb of Philadelphia.

They sought out Noxah's parents and his four siblings and said they were praying for him. And they cheered his name, led by Sammy.

"Largest drive we've ever seen," one of the volunteers said.

In the days leading up to the event, Sammy sent me this email:

Hi Mr. Anthony,

My friend Noxah that I went through treatment with and has the same leukemia as me has his cancer back. He is my best friend in the whole world and I do not want to lose him. He is the only person who understands what I went through and I how I felt. I need your help to get his story out and hopefully you will be able to help me start a bone marrow drive city wide for him. This is only way to save my friend. We are the Dynamic Duo and there will be no Dynamic Duo without him. I know boys don't say this to other boys but I love him and I need him to live. Can you help me in any way?

please email me and let me know if you can. I really apreciate anything you can do to help me help him.

Your friend,

Sammy

ps how is little Anthony?

Little Anthony is my seven-month old baby boy.

And I wish someday that he becomes a boy like Sammy.

A selfless boy. Heroic.

A doer. Driven by hope and goodness. A boy who seeks only well-being for his friend, all the while knowing that any day he could receive the same news.

Back in the hospital, Noxah received good news on the count. They'll know in a week if anyone from Sunday is a match. Sammy remains hopeful, one way or another.

"I just know Noxah will be back on the field," he told me.