NATCHEZ &045; Te Riley opened the Sports section of The Natchez Democrat for Wednesday, June 8. Almost prophetically was a write-up about Te. It extolled his three-run homer when he played for United Mississippi Bank in 2000 in the Dixie Boys 13-14 League.

His team won 12-6.

&uot;Look, Dad,&uot; Te, 19, said to his father, Willie Riley. &uot;I remember that hit like it was yesterday.&uot;

Willie patted Te on the back and smiled proudly. Willie, too, remembered that shot well. He was the team’s coach.

That morning, the two had just finished a 3 1/2-hour conversation about Te’s baseball career and Willie’s own days on the diamond.

No sooner had Te begun to walk when baseball became as much a part of his life as the blood flowing through his veins, just as baseball was in his father’s life.

&uot;The first thing I remember before even playing T-Ball was when my grandmother (Elizabeth Cloy) babysat me,&uot; Te said. &uot;I had this plastic bat and whiffle ball. She’d throw me the ball and let me swing at it for hour and hours.&uot;

And, he developed one heck of a swing. When he started playing with real bats, Te became the go-to guy when his teams needed a hit, cracking balls consistently out of the park.

&uot;When he was 12 years old, he could hit a baseball farther than anyone at that age,&uot; Willie said. &uot;I’ll never forget the time he hit one and the other coach stood near first base near our dugout watching the ball. He said, ‘My God, is it ever going to come down?’&uot;

Te also wowed crowds with his pitching skills, being among the stingiest of hurlers in giving up hits, frequently being called to pitch in the tightest of games and the tensest situations, such as Cathedral High School’s final state championship game in 2004. Te was brought in to close the game, gaining the last out for the win. His brother, Jimmy, performed the same feat 24 years earlier.

And there was his family watching with pride.

&uot;My whole family loved to watch me play. I’d turn around and wave. It made me feel good Š made me feel special.&uot;

&uot;We have always been a close family,&uot; said Te’s mother Caro Bett Riley. &uot;The relationship between Willie and Te is above and beyond father and son. I believe athletics have had a lot to do with the bond between them. When Willie was young he breathed and played baseball, and Te also breathed and played baseball.&uot;

Willie said he felt an extra pride when Te decided to play for Co-Lin. Willie is the welding instructor at Co-Lin’s Natchez campus.

It didn’t take Te long to show off his talent and his spirit.

&uot;Te’s a great kid,&uot; said Keith Case, baseball coach for the Co-Lin Wolves, for whom Te played this spring. &uot;There are guys who bring intangibles to the team, and Te is one of them. I see great things for his future. He meant a lot more to our team than just as a player.&uot;

But that baseball blood that shaped his identity since he was a toddler now has forced him to dig deep into his character and seek a life without playing baseball or any sport ever again.

In early April, midway through a promising season with the Co-Lin Wolf Pack, Te noticed something was wrong with his pitching arm.

&uot;We had a double-header against Southwest (Mississippi) Community College,&uot; he recalled. &uot;The second game was going into extra innings, and our pitcher was getting tired. I went to the bullpen and began to warm up; my arm felt a little tighter than it usually does.

&uot;I came home (to the dorm) that night, went to sleep, and when I woke up my arm was really sore like I had pitched a whole nine-inning game. My veins were sticking out and my left arm was swollen. I thought it would go away. I went to school that day and bed that night.

&uot;When I woke up, my arm was a darkish color and my fingers were tingling. I went to practice that day and began warming up. I looked at my arm and it turned purple. It scared me Š I walked up to coach and said something’s wrong. Coach called the trainer (Matt McLain); he said, ‘Come on; we’re going to the hospital.’&uot;

Brookhaven doctors were stumped and sent Te to Jackson with McLain. At Baptist Hospital, a cardiovascular surgeon diagnosed Te’s problem as a blood clot which, if left untreated, could have threatened Te’s life, according to Carol Polk, registered nurse with Jackson Dr. Charles O’Mara, the cardiovascular surgeon who operated on Te.

By then, Te’s father and mother were headed to the hospital.

&uot;In the operating room, the doctor inserted a catheter in my forearm and kind of like a vacuum, he literally sucked the clot out of my vein,&uot; Te said. &uot;He said the vein was so frayed he had to put a stint in. After he did that my arm immediately felt better.&uot;

The relief that flowed through Te soon would turn to distress.

&uot;Dr. O’Mara came in my room not long after I had the procedure done,&uot; Te said. &uot;My dad and mom were there. Dr. O’Mara started talking to us Š and dad asked, ‘What about ball?’ Dr. O’Mara just got that look. I knew what he was going to say. He said, ‘You’re done.’ He said, ‘You can’t play ball again.’ I don’t even remember what he said after that. I didn’t say anything.

&uot;Dad said, ‘I know you want to be by yourself.’ I stared out the window. I had a big flashback about my whole life in baseball. I put my whole career in my head in an hour trying to tell myself this isn’t going to happen. I’ll play. I tried to tell myself this isn’t as bad as he said. He’s just a doctor. Other athletes tear muscles and are hurt worse; they come back after the doctor tells them not to. They don’t even have what I have.&uot;

Polk said Te’s use of the shoulder for pitching could have been a contributing factor to the clot forming; however, sports very likely wasn’t the only factor. He now must take blood-thinning medicine to prevent a clot from forming. Te is prohibited from any sports while on the blood-thinners, which could be the rest of his life, Polk said.

As Te reconstructed his baseball career in his hospital room, his mother and father sat somberly in the hospital’s courtyard.

&uot;I had a terrible feeling for my son. Seeing him so distraught about never being able to play ball hurt me worse than his not being able to play ball,&uot; Willie said. &uot;I thanked God I had a healthy son, and we were going to build on it. We were going to make something positive out of the negative.&uot;

The coach arrived while the Rileys were in the courtyard. &uot;We all went upstairs. Coach Case said, ‘Maybe there’s a little hope we can get him out there (on the ball field).’ He said to Te, ‘Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll make a student coach out of you; you’ll still be with us.’&uot;

Case said that during the Wolves’ trip to the Junior College World Series, it ached him to see Te out of uniform watching the game, but eager to play. &uot;He was just as valuable to the team; we needed his spirit.&uot; It’s that spirit and Te’s knowledge of the game that led Case to keep Te involved.

&uot;Coach Case is a tremendous person,&uot; Caro Bett said. &uot;He and his wife took Te under their wing. These people (at Co-Lin) are unbelievable; it’s amazing how good they are.&uot;

She said that as close at the family’s relationship was before Te’s incident, it seems to have intensified.

&uot;It made us open our eyes and look at how precious life is. The faith we have in the Lord has helped us get through it,&uot; she said. &uot;You never know what’s going to happen; as much as Te loved baseball, it was taken away in a split second. God has got something bigger and better for him. We know one door shuts and the other opens.&uot;

Te said, &uot;I could look at it like it’s over and be depressed. I love baseball, but it’s just a game. There’s no sense trying to get sympathy. I look at my situation and the rest of the world. There are so many more worse things happening. People are dying.&uot;

Willie said, &uot;It makes me feel proud he is accepting the situation as a mature person. He could be moping around crying rather than accepting this thing like he is.&uot;

Te, a general studies major, said he’ll spend some time figuring out a career. &uot;I think one day I could be a coach, but coaching doesn’t pay well. Everything happens for a reason. This might be the best thing that happened to me.&uot;