(Tip of the cap if you get that joke.)

I'm about to tell a story I've told very few people ever that is only sort of about baseball, but I think you'll enjoy it.

One of the lessons I really like to teach at Summer Camp is how important it is to embrace and cherish every minute on the field because we only get one shot at being a kid in Little League. Usually I offer this lesson when it's a Thursday or Friday towards the end of the Summer when a lot of the campers start sensing that they won't get to play baseball again for many months.

Some of them might decide to play Fall Ball with me or club ball in the Fall and Winter months, but the vast majority of kids in camp will move on to soccer, football, and basketball and it will be awhile before they swing a bat or throw a baseball again.

But for everyone at camp, when we can sense that the finish line is close, it's important to remember how lucky we are to be out on the field, to do our best to enjoy every minute of our time around baseball, and to finish the Summer with no regrets.

Could I have played harder? Could I have cheered louder? Could I have given more high fives to my teammates? Am I using my energy to make the day better for everyone or am using it to be upset after striking out or making an error? Those are all questions we want to answer while we still have the opportunity to do something about it, rather than wake up one day in October, wishing we could go back in time and do things differently. Play with no regrets.

So with that baseball-related preamble done, I'm going to share the single event in my life that I have regretted the most.

The year is 2012 and my wife and I flew to Vegas to see Eddie Vedder play a solo show. (Ahhhh, the things we used to be able to do on a whim before kids!).

We've got very good seats close to the floor and everyone's having a great time. Eddie is my favorite artist of all-time and it was a real treat to get to see him play without Pearl Jam behind him- just Eddie with a few guitars on stage.

About half-way through the show, he stops to talk about a charity that he's involved in that raises money for children with a very rare skin disease called Epidermolysis Bullosa. As he's describing the work the charity does, a slightly inebriated woman in the crowd walks up to the stage and very loudly announces that she'll give Eddie $5000 on the spot for the charity if he plays "Black."

Eddie asks if she's serious, she pulls out a wad a cash, and he goes, "Oh man, I wish I could, but I don't know how to play the song on the guitar."

At this point, my brain tells me that I should yell out, "I CAN PLAY THE SONG" which is absolutely true - I know every note. My brain then says, "if you yell that out, of course he'll invite you on stage to play because it's all for charity and this will be the coolest thing that's every happened to anyone in the history of concerts."

So what did I do with what, at least according to my head, was a legitimate opportunity to play a song on stage with my musical hero?

Absolutely nothing. Nothing came out of my mouth. I didn't make a move towards to the stage to yell "I CAN PLAY IT!" I didn't turn to Marissa and say, "I can play it" so she could yell out to him on my star-struck behalf. I did nothing. 5 seconds later the moment passed, and that was it.

Regret.

Now every time I hear "Black" on the radio, I get a pit in my stomach. Regret is an awful awful feeling.

So, what does this have to do with baseball?

Well, I had a lot a teammates over the years who, when their baseball career finally ended, were filled with regret.

Some regretted not working harder so they had a chance to continuing playing.

Some regretted not enjoying their time on the field more while they had a chance.

Others regretted their attitude towards their coaches and teammates.

Whatever caused their feeling of regret, one thing was true for all of them; they couldn't go back in time and have a do-over.

For Little Leaguers, the regret might not be as philosophical - it could be as simple as, "I should have swung at that pitch."

For us parents, let's enjoy every minute we get to spend watching our kids play baseball. It goes by fast and we won't get another chance.

For players, enjoy every minute of practice, cages, games, time with friends before the game, time with teammates after game. All of it. Because you only get to be in Little League once.

No regrets.

As for Eddie and me, I got a second chance last summer at Dodger Stadium when a friend spotted him in the front row down by the field, a few sections in front of where we were sitting.

I turned to Marissa and said, "I'm getting down there, no matter what. I'm either going to meet him or get arrested trying, but I'm definitely not going to miss taking my shot!" No regrets.

3 innings later Cody Bellinger hit a walk-off homerun in the bottom on the 9th and as the crowd went wild and the security guards were distracted, I jumped down into the dugout club, walked right up to him, told him how much his music had meant to me since I was 12 years old, and gave him a hug.

And he didn't even call security on me :-) Ain't life grand sometimes? No regrets.