I've often said that it's the adults
who make Little League baseball infinitely more difficult than the kids. So,
you'd better believe I'm proud to announce MY contribution to the usual chaos
and confusion. As the 2013 Little League
season approached, I had to determine where my nine-year-old son Jalen would
play.
J could stay in the 8-10-year-old division called
"Farm". This is where he
played last year, holding his own with the stick and as a regular pitcher. Or, he could move up to the 9-11-year-old
level called "Minors" -- ostensibly a more competitive division that
sits one spot below Little League's apex echelon, "Majors". I hemmed and hawed in the weeks leading up to
spring sign-ups and beyond, listing both divisions on J's paperwork and
wrecking havoc on the league's aging, TRS-80-supported player database.
After receiving unsolicited counsel from several other
managers -- who crafted their one-size-fits-all advice around the same
weather-worn opening line, "If he was MY son..." followed by two
seconds of silence to presumably build dramatic effect before dispensing their
predictable advice after the ellipse -- I opted to bring Jalen up to Minors.
Tryouts were held in mid-January and the player draft was
two weeks later. My Athletics team
(yes, AGAIN) looked especially young on paper -- with four
9-year-olds and just one 11-year-old. But, we appeared to offer some decent depth
in both the lineup and pitching staff; albeit without any of the
"man-amongst-boys" behemoths whose talent belies their birth
certificates.
We practiced throughout the month of February and after
an unusually-scheduled bye on Little League Opening Day, we played our first
game:
"12-4 loss in Little League opener,
highlighted by my son seeing a curveball for 1st time. Ended as hilariously
& tearfully as you'd expect." -- from my Twitter feed, March 9
I handed the opening starting pitching assignment to our
oldest, most experienced player -- a tall, lanky 11-year-old named Jordan. He
initially struggled with his control, but settled down to strike out five in a
row at one point. He left with a 3-1
lead. After telling him that he wouldn't
be pitching earlier in the evening, I changed my mind and brought Jalen into
the game. When the inning ended, we were
suddenly down 6-3.
J only gave up one hard hit ball in the inning. Everything else could be laid at the feet
(...and through the legs...and under the gloves) of our Vaudevillian
defense. And, it wasn't entirely
errors. Here's a quick in-game
conversation between me and my third baseman:
Me: "Seth! The bases are loaded. If it
comes to you, just step on third!"
Seth: "OK!"
[The very...next...pitch is a groundball to third base.]
Seth: [Picks up ball, makes lollipop toss towards first
base, ball lands softly on pitcher's mound just inches from an incredulous
Jalen...]
Rest of Team: [Audible, but indecipherable cacophony of
criticism directed at Seth. Constructive, I presume.]
Later in the game, we would run ourselves out of not one,
but TWO separate innings when my baserunners lost track of the number of
outs. Even the umpires got in on the act
when one of my players avoided a tag at home plate only to be called out.
Me: "Where did the catcher tag him?"
12-year-old umpire: "Ummm...he stepped on home
plate?"
Me: "But, it wasn't a force play."
Umpire: "Uh..."
Obnoxious parent of player on the other team: [From
behind the backstop] "THE RUNNER WAS OUT OF THE BASELINE!"
Umpire: "Uh...the runner was out of the
baseline."
Me: "..."
==
"Heart-stopping 10-9 walk-off win for my
son's Little League team tonite. Our 1st win! My son's reaction: 'Aww, I went 0
for 2.' Team player!" -- from Twitter, March 13
Trailing by one run as we entered the bottom of the sixth
and final inning, we were fortunate to have the top of our batting order coming
up. My leadoff hitter is a thickly-built
10-year-old catcher straight out of the Moneyball
methodology. He started us off by
tomahawking an opposite-field single to right.
Up next was Bennett -- a talented 9-year-old who skipped the Farm level
altogether. He's a terrific little
hitter whose concentration needs an occasional nudge.
Me: "OK, Bennett. We've got one on and
nobody out. If you get your pitch, put a
good swing on it."
Bennett: "If I get my pitch, I'm gonna kill it,
coach."
Jesus! True to his
word, last rites rang off the left field wall as Bennett tripled home his excruciatingly
s-l-o-w footed teammate to tie the game.
Bennett scored on a check-swing infield dribbler to win it. To his credit, Jalen led the spontaneous
walk-off celebration and waited until we'd ALMOST gotten back to the car before
expressing his selfish lament.
So...progress.
==
"16-11 loss in Little League. Didn't let
fact we were missing 2 of our best players stop me from yelling at kids over
teams' lack of effort!" -- from Twitter, March 16
My 10-year-old catcher who runs with a pair of pianos
strapped to his back? Out with shin
splints, natch. My stone-faced clean-up
hitter? In-season(!) family
vacation. Despite the losses on offense,
we were matching run-for-run with one of the better teams in our division --
which made our half-assed effort in the field and on the basepaths even more
inexcusable.
I've been managing in Little League long enough to expect
these games once per season. They're
immediately followed by a postgame meeting in which I unleash a little kid-friendly Jim Leyland (NSFW!) Up until now, my teams had been blown out in
these effort-free affairs. On this day,
a win was within our reach, so I made my speech in the middle of the game,
between innings. It included ALL the
classic lyrics, like...
"All I ask [pause] is that you guys
TRY!"
"If you guys don't wanna play hard, then
why am I here? WHY AM I HERE?"
[Chorus] "Hustling is the EASY part!"
x4
And, we still lost the game. Next time, I'll auto-tune the chorus.
==
"Son's Little League team blew 8-0 lead
& lost 12-11. If you need me, I'll be ensuring all my players WALK home
& go to bed without dinner." -- from Twitter, March 19
This one STUNG.
And, the pain was exacerbated two days later by the father of one of my
players. In a long, rambling e-mail, he
asked if I could make the game "more fun" for his son. Somewhere in chapter 16 of his missive, he
not-so-subtly mentioned that he previously played minor league baseball and
helpfully offered up the same basic pointers ("...have the hitters rotate
their hips..." and "...get the head of the bat in front of the
plate...") that EVERY youth coach knows and parrots. The publicity blurb on the back of this e-mail's
imaginary book jacket would be "THE MOST CONDESCENDING READ OF THE
YEAR!"
Fortunately, I trashed my original reply ("Don't
worry. Your son's got the same chance of making the Major Leagues as you.")
and respectfully invited Crash Davis to come out to a practice and dispense
his "fun" blend of pedantic wisdom and "Baseball Annie"
anecdotes to ALL of the kids. It's been
10 days. I'm still waiting for his response.
==
"Little League team wins 14-4, bouncing
back from worst loss ever. Per agreement, I'm returning players' Friday lunch
money to each of them." -- from Twitter, March 21
Earlier this month, Jalen and I were having breakfast
before I took him to school. The
conversation centered on catching and my son's newfound affinity for the
position.
Jalen: "Do you think I'll get most of the
starts at catcher when the season starts?"
Me: "Nah, probably not."
Jalen: "Why not?"
Me: "Because you're not a good catcher,
J."
In the past, I've been able to honestly assess my son's
baseball shortcomings and he'd respond with mock indignation or a playful
"Hey!" before trying -- almost always successfully -- to tackle my
frail, emaciated frame to the ground.
This time, however, his response wasn't what I'd call
"playful".
"I'm not a good catcher?"
It's been nearly a month and I still
feel awful about it. The worst part is
that I think he was less hurt by the criticism than by the fact it came from his
greatest baseball advocate. I
immediately backpedalled by belatedly -- and clumsily -- adding context to my
comment:
"Well, J...y'know...you've gotta work on
blocking balls in the dirt and...y'know, you gotta have a quick release back
there...I mean, it's a tough position.
And, I like you more at shortstop.
I thought you LIKED playing shortstop?
DON'T YOU LIKE SHORTSTOP?!"
Fortunately, I had enough flop sweat left over to
marinate the crow my son would serve me once the season began. In our second game, Jalen -- who'd stayed
home from school with a cold the day before -- ended up catching four of the
six innings and tagged a runner out at home.
In our third game, he threw out a runner at third base and in this 14-4
win, he threw out a runner trying to steal second.
After six games, J's played more innings at the position
than anyone on the team.
He's a good catcher.
==
"Little League team scored 21 runs today,
but the big story was son's reaction to getting stung by bee for 1st time."
-- from Twitter, March 23
He's not good at getting stung by bees.
