From the sidelines
In about a month I'll start practice for my five and six-year-old T-ball team, and I'm thanking my lucky stars I'm not coaching a professional team.
Note: Yes, the pay would be better, but the I'll take the attitude of cranky six-year-olds than a cranky pro any day.
That's what makes T-ball fun. No keeping score. Everyone is a winner. And hopefully no bench-clearing brawls.
Hopefully.
But imagine if you will, what it would be like if we treated it like the pros:
It was first day of practice, and the nine kids on my team were ready to play.
"OK, kids, I'm your coach, Mike, and it's time to get down to business," I would say.
"We only have four games, which means we can't afford to lose one of them. Got it?
"So, I want you guys here everyday after school for two hours so we can be prepared to knock the socks off the other Marion teams."
Little Timmy raises his hand for a question.
"When do we get to the hit the ball?"
"When I say so. Now, get to running."
After a week of nothing but running, I've already lost one kid to shin splints, and another quit because he joined only because he didn't have to run.
So, I'm down to seven, but I think we can manage with just two outfielders, especially because we don't need a pitcher.
As the first game starts, Johnny hits a nice shot up the middle, but runs to third instead of first.
"Darn it, Johnny," I told him. "The team isn't paying you a pack of baseball cards and five fruit rollups each week to run to the wrong base. Get on the bench."
After a few tears I would have to take time out to do my best Tom Hanks from "A League of Their Own," impression, which would probably lead to more tears.
After a dozen dropped fly balls, an injury because one player forgot to tie his shoes, and another third base instead of first base situation, the first game ended.
"Kids, I know we aren't supposed to keep score, but I did, and we won 27-24," I told them.
"That's not bad. But we talked about scoring 30 runs, or it would be back to running again."
For game two I'm down to four players because for some reason three sets of parents thought I was "taking it a little too seriously," or something like that.
I figured with four players I could have a shortstop, first baseman, an outfielder, and a catcher for close plays at the plate.
After all, every run counts in this competitive league of T-ball.
Game two doesn't go as well, as one kid was "sick" and didn't show up.
His mom said something about being allergic to jerks, but I didn't really know what that meant.
The three that were there did OK, but playing against a team of 12 girls didn't go so well.
I didn't understand. Their coach was calm and understanding, and they were good.
They made errors, but they fielded the ball sometimes too, hit pretty well, and seemed to enjoy themselves.
And I heard they only had three or four practices — all season.
After the girls kicked our butts, I found out I was losing another player because the parents "just decided to go on a month-long vacation."
I was down to two kids, and realized it would be pretty hard to have a catcher, and one player play every position in the infield and outfield.
So, for the third game I put one at third base, and one at first.
Well, the other team seemed to hit the ball in every gap, go figure, and I don't think we made one out.
We were now 1-2, and the chances of winning the championship were slim.
They became even more so when the boy who played first base suddenly "moved to another town."
The one who played third couldn't possibly pull off what Bugs Bunny did in that one cartoon, so I kicked him off the team.
We, or now it was I, forfeited the final game, and we finished 1-3.
It was a sad season.
And to top it off, every player still got their baseball cards and fruit rollups.
