I am the father of a pint-sized college softball player who achieved marginal success at the two pint-sized colleges she attended in two pint-sized towns. She spent most of her senior year on the bench and, as an added bonus, needed five-plus years of school to earn a degree that will be of little or no use in the real world.

Oh, and did I mention that Cheyanne has made me, for the 23rd consecutive year, The World’s Proudest Father? If not, it is only because my other daughter, Shanna, has owned a 50-percent stake in my self-proclaimed title for the past 20 years.

Three paragraphs into an article that I hope can somehow convey the love, respect and admiration I hold for Cheyanne, I don’t know if I can accomplish my goal. Quite frankly, after three decades in journalism, I am not certain that I possess the vocabulary or intellect to enable outsiders to understand Cheyanne’s unique qualities and the impact her college softball career had on her aging, washed-up jock of a father.

Understand, please, that Cheyanne’s college softball career was a lifetime in the making. From backyard games of catch to co-ed games of T-ball to insufferably boring youth fastpitch games -- can any girl under the age of 10 throw more than one strike every half hour? -- To high school and select summer softball, Cheyanne always demonstrated far more heart than skill.

We’re talking about a kid who entered college at 5-foot-2 and 113 pounds and leaves at 5-2 and 114 pounds despite long hours in the weight room. Athletically, she’s a midget. Give up half a foot and 40 pounds to enough opponents, and the odds are fairly certain that you will get your butt kicked on the scoreboard and in the scorebook, and perhaps in the alley as well. Watch any 12-and-under select softball game in town, and the vast majority of players will be bigger than Cheyanne.

For better AND worse, Cheyanne was always painfully naive about her lack of size and skill. No sooner would she get cut by a team or one of her teams would disband than she would find another club holding tryouts, force her way onto the roster and, inevitably, wind up starting. Many college players played four years of high school varsity softball; Cheyanne played only two full seasons on the Central Valley varsity in Spokane Valley, Wash., hit under .200 both years and often batted ninth. Not exactly your standard blueprint for a kid who played on 20-win teams every year in college and was a starter for three years.

Cheyanne rarely got to be the star, or see her name in the headlines, or see her name in the newspaper at all. She always loved the game, though. Always played her hardest. Always trained her hardest. Always believed she could keep on playing until she left on her own terms.

Now, that time has arrived. After one season at Big Bend Community College in Moses Lake, Wash., and three seasons at Eastern Oregon University in La Grande, Cheyanne’s college softball career has come to an end. All of her college teams posted winning records and reached the postseason, just as every one of her summer and high school varsity teams did. I refuse to believe that Cheyanne’s spirit and work ethic did not factor into that run of 19 consecutive winning seasons.

The world of small college athletics is one far removed from the glitz and glamour we often associate with college sports. Scholarships are small, if they exist at all. (Cheyanne’s first scholarship at Big Bend consisted of, ahem, $200; she never received a dime of scholarship money or financial aid at Eastern Oregon.) Road trips might consist of 10 hours on a bus, not an hour or two on a plane. Off season training at Eastern Oregon involves not only 6 a.m. running, weights and batting practice, but leaf raking, babysitting and various other endeavors necessary to help fund the program.

I juggled my work schedule so I could watch almost every game Cheyanne played in college -- home and away, near and far, sizzling hot and fr-fr-freezing -- and I will forever cherish the memories Cheyanne provided me. I never experienced the thrill of watching my daughter throw a no-hitter or hit a home run, but I was fortunate enough to be able to appreciate the joy Cheyanne sometimes experienced from just making the team, or laying down a sacrifice bunt. Or cutting down a ball in the gap to prevent a runner from taking an extra base.

A wise man once said, "Sports don’t build character; they reveal it." I’m proud to say that Cheyanne is 62 inches and 114 pounds worth of character. Softball provided the impetus to get her through college, and with solid grades to boot. Years from now, I am absolutely certain the lessons in life that Cheyanne learned from failing and succeeding in softball will help make her a better wife, mother, friend and person.

The grand slam of life. I always knew my little kid would hit one.

Howie Stalwick is a freelance sports writer in Post Falls, Idaho. At 51, Stalwick still plays (poorly, his teammates stress) on four slowpitch teams. Stalwick, who basically has no life, loves to point out that he raised one of the smallest players in college softball history after he dodged line drives as perhaps the smallest pitcher in college baseball history (5-7, 130 many, many, many beers and pizzas ago) at Eastern Washington. In the interest of fair and balanced reporting, Stalwick’s baseball teammates want it known that he also sucked in that sport.