Son #2 is now in high school. Translation: he now has real coaches. I’ve been retired (temporarily, at least) as a little league coach.
He and I have recently been to three little league games, watching young buddies of ours. It’s quite a different perspective from the stands.
One game was Y-ball. The spirit was wonderful. Score wasn’t kept (at least officially). Parents on both teams cheered for every player.
Another game was farm league. The machine pitched great, keeping the game moving right along. And again, people seemed to be there for fun.
But the third game was minor leagues. That’s kids who are 9-10 year olds. This was a very different game. I heard stuff that I’d never heard while out in the dugout or standing near third base giving kids the steal sign.
I couldn’t believe what a couple of the dads were yelling — at kids, at umpires, even at their own coaches. At one point, one of them screamed at his kid’s own coach, “Come on, man. That’s coaching 101. Wake up!” I wanted to turn around and say, “Hey, get off your keister and go coach yourself.” (That’s not to say that you shouldn’t have sent the runner from 3rd when the catcher threw down to second, GB. Ha!)
I loved my years of coaching little league. Here is the essence of my coaching wisdom for new coaches who are wondering what to say on the first day of practice: “DON’T EVER THROW THE BALL WITHOUT MAKING SURE THE PERSON IS WATCHING.” There it is. That’s the sum total of my wisdom. (Ok, that and “Sit on a fastball on the first pitch.”)
Here are a few of my previous posts about baseball and coaching.
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I don’t just like the idea of baseball.
I like the smell of it. I like the crack of the wood bat or the ping of the aluminum bat. I like teaching a kid how to lead with his hips as he swings. I like a sore arm and shoulder from throwing 20 too many fastballs the night before at practice. I like calling pitches for my son. I like seeing a kid that can’t catch still hustle to the fence, hit his cutoff man, and stop the double from being a triple. I love hot dogs at the stadium. I like seeing the #9 batter get his first hit of the season. I like seeing a kid lay down a bunt. Shoot, I just like seeing a kid look down to third and SEE the bunt sign. I like seeing the two teams line up after the game and shake hands, remembering that there are more important things than who won.
I like almost everything about baseball.
Except the Yankees.
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With Kevin Costner, it was just a movie.
But not John Grisham. He did build his field (seven baseball and softball fields, actually) on his property in Virginian ten years ago and they have come.
Now in the middle of coaching all-star baseball, I’m drawn again to the story of Cove Creek Park.
It’s his land and his fields. So guess who the commissioner of the league is. Right: Grisham. He’s often been the one cutting the grass and lining the field.
And the kids play by his rules: profanity, arguing with the ump, and poor sportsmanship aren’t tolerated. No throwing of bats, no tossing of helmets, no slamming of caps.
The parents? They’re comfortably seated beyond the center field fence so they don’t ruin the game for the kids.
Now THAT is a field of dreams!
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This weekend Chris and I went to a game where a little buddy of ours was playing. It was Y-ball — tee-ball played through the YMCA. It had been a LONG time since Chris’s Y-ball days.
I love Y-ball. There were no grumpy parents, no thrown bats, no slammed batting helmets, no hysterical coaches. It was, well, fun.
The third baseman rarely looked at the plate, but he compensated by having really cool sunglasses. One of the players woke up that morning just wanting to wear his favorite camo shorts instead of his baseball pants. Not a problem.
There are no strike outs. Everyone hits the ball. If you can’t hit it with your coach pitching it, the ball goes on the tee until you do whack it.
Actually there are no outs. Well, there are and there aren’t. The team in the field can get an out by fielding the ball and throwing to first or tagging the runner. But — here’s the interesting part — the runner isn’t considered out by the team batting. He gets to stay.
And everyone scores. When the last batter comes up each inning, he runs all the way around, no matter whether he hit it 100 feet or 1 foot.
Fans on both sides cheered every player. One of the dads pitching had a younger son who wanted daddy. Not a problem: he pitched while holding him. At times, the child wanted mommy (the first base coach), so he’d run back and forth. Everyone just thought it was cute.
I know that in later years more of a sense of competition has to kick in. But it wouldn’t hurt us if every once in a while in little leagues all around we decided to play by Y-ball rules. Just for a night.
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For months Chris’s glove sat idle. As he recovered from a wreck — first in a wheelchair and then in a brace — it lay in the bottom of his baseball bag.
This old Wilson glove has been in our family since about 1992. I think we got it when Matt was ten. He wore it through major league and maybe junior league. Then, when Chris got old enough he started wearing it.
I’ve thrown tens of thousand of balls to that old glove, oiled it dozens of times, and had it re-strung a couple times.
Yesterday that glove was back on his left hand. It was a good sight. We’re thankful that recovery continues.
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Yes, yes, last night went very well. We won first place (8-4) and get to enter the area tournament as Key City team #1.
This morning I was back at the field for a while helping with some cleaning to get ready for hosting tournament games. I got to clean to the best background “music” possible. We always have the best tunes there–including many of the songs nominated on this site a few days ago.
But this morning I cleaned with the sound of cheers behind me. It was a game in the Challenger League. All the children playing were handicapped. Most had parents right next to them, helping them bat, assisting them as they fielded.
Every time someone is announced coming up to the plate, every person in the stands cheers. Every time they swing (whether they hit it or not), everyone cheers.
All right, so the game is “rigged.” Everyone swings until they hit the ball. And when they hit the ball, they’re going to be safe at first. There were wheelchairs flying around the bases. I spoke to one of the adults who told me that one of the girls playing had woken up early that morning and was giddy with excitement about the game.
No one makes an out. No one is embarrassed. No one gets yelled at. No one gets nailed with an error. Everyone hits; everyone gets on base; everyone scores.
I like this game. I think Megan (our daughter who was mentally and physically handicapped, for those blog readers who don’t know us) would have enjoyed it, too.
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Six observations about coaching little league (from someone who’s been doing it since 1989):
1) Practices that last 2 hours are half as effective as practices that last 1 hour.
2) Practicing every day makes the coaches self-satisfied, but the kids tend to lose the fun.
3) Small amounts of money pay big dividends. On rare occasions I’ll play “hit the bucket,” where the first player to field a ground ball cleanly and hit the red bucket at home plate gets a buck. You’d think you offered tickets on the first manned mission to Mars.
4) Make sure one of the assistant coaches is much younger than you but still significantly older than the boys on the team. (Here is the advantage of having one son who’s 11 and another who’s 22.) That way the kids can have batting practice for an hour, but YOUR shoulder doesn’t feel like it needs surgery the next morning.
5) It’s just a game.
6) It’s just a game.
, is worth pondering. Find out why Claiborne is so appealing to young disciples.
: “I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kinds of things; also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace’s arrival. But no, it’s clog and slog and schootch, on the floor, in silence, in the dark.”
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