Before the first ground ball of the season is flubbed and pop up dropped, let’s take a moment to thank all the new mothers and fathers out there who have volunteered to coach their child’s youth baseball or softball team this year.
We who have gone before you applaud your bravery. Life, as you know it, is about to change.
It all starts out so innocently that first season. The kids are so little and cute in their baggy uniforms and oversized baseball caps — running around tripping over bases and throwing balls to first that land in left field.
1991 team photo of the T-Ball Blue Jays. Dennis McCarthy far right with his son Casey next to him, bottom row. (Courtesy Dennis McCarthy)
Hits, when they occur, which is seldom, go 3-feet. Home runs travel 10-feet, usually through two pairs of infielder’s legs.
The kids are so surprised when they actually hit the ball they just stand at home plate stunned before running the wrong way to third.
And, yes, little Johnny will be picking daises out in right field when the ball goes by him, and little Freddie at second base will be picking his nose when the ground ball goes through his legs. That’s just a given.
Bring lots of tissues with you for runny noses and don’t forget to laugh because baseball at 6 years old is a comedy of errors. Enjoy it!
Win or lose, there’s always pizza or ice cream after the game.
Somewhere around 8 or 9, it begins to change. There’s an official team scorekeeper now and the parents are building shelves in their child’s bedroom for the trophies that will surely follow the wins.
Many of the weaker players have quit already because baseball isn’t fun when you’re sitting on the bench most of the game.
Parents start calling you at night, lobbying for their child who will be playing shortstop for the Dodgers someday, they’re convinced. Why is he playing right field, the position where coaches stash their weakest players?
It’s a legitimate question that divides youth coaches. Is winning more important than treating all your players fairly? Some coaches think so, but I don’t agree.
Doesn’t the kid sitting at the end of the bench deserve a chance to pitch or play shortstop once in a while, too, if he wants?
Years after I hung up my coaching spikes, I was walking out of a restaurant with my wife one night when a man stopped me and introduced himself.
“You don’t remember me, but I’m Kyle’s father,” he said. “I just wanted to thank you and tell you how much it meant to my son and me when you called him in from right field to pitch an inning. He was on cloud nine for days after that.”
I remembered that game. Kyle didn’t give up a run. His teammates mobbed him in the dugout and parents stood and clapped. They all knew what it meant to the kid playing right field for once to be the star.
And, finally, as a coach you’re going to screw up from time to time. We all did.
I had a kid named Louis, another right fielder, who was on second base one game when I was coaching third.
He was a great kid but his mind tended to wander — usually up to the snack stand. I needed Louis to focus.
“Louis, I want you over here,” I yelled, meaning after the ball was hit to run as hard as you can to third base.
Louis thought I wanted to see him right away and began walking over to see me. The pitcher tagged him out and we lost the game.
Louis’ lower lip began to tremble.
“My fault, Louis,” I said. “Not yours. Mine. Let’s go get an ice cream.”
Funny, but looking back, I can’t remember the names of most of my pitchers and shortstops, but I’ll never forget my right fielders.
Dennis McCarthy’s column runs on Sunday. He can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.
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