My Baseball Rant

When Fern first picked up a baseball bat at the age of two, he was absolutely delighted.  He had no idea he could launch a ball so far by swinging a bat.  He would roll on the floor with laughter every time he did it.  But sometimes, he would miss my pitches.  And once, when he missed several in a row, he got frustrated.  With me.  He pointed to his bat and said, "See the bat, Poppa?  See the bat?"

Apparently, I was not doing my job.


This past Spring, I coached Tee Ball.  Which is a challenge.  Kids will hit the ball and run to third instead of first.  Or, forget to hit the ball altogether before taking off.  I tried to get them to run through first base, rather than slow down.  One of the kids ran all the way to the trees before he heard me yell for him to stop.

Fielding is even more of a challenge than batting.  It's hot, they're tired, they're out in a grassy field.  Why not lie down?  Once, Sprout saw a beetle.  He yelled, "Bug!" and my entire infield dropped their gloves and gathered around to watch.

Bugs aside, one coach told me that Sprout was the best player in the Tee Ball League.  (As Sprout's father, I am contractually obligated to agree.)  But it took us awhile to get there.  Last summer, I was working with him on keeping his feet under him as he swung.  He kept stepping out and spinning around.  Finally, Sprout explained to me what was happening.  "First, I swing the bat, but then the bat swings me."

Sprout's arm isn't quite as good as his bat, but it's still pretty strong and accurate.  One day, we were practicing pitching when one of his balls sailed high and wide over the neighbor's fence.  I was really surprised.  It was truly awful.  Sprout offered his perspective.  "I forgot to bring my aim out."

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After Tee Ball, comes Rookie Ball, which is coach pitch.  In Fern's first year of Rookie Ball, I was always behind the plate, shagging balls.  But the last game of the season, the guy I coach with couldn't make the game.  So I took over pitching duties.

Oscar, a pretty decent player on my team, is batting.  The observant coach that I am, I know he has problems with balls that drop as they cross the plate.  So I decide to pitch with a little more heat to keep the trajectory flatter.  I bean him right in the side.

Talk about embarrassing.  Oscar grimacing.  Parents laughing.  The opposing coach encouraging Oscar to rush the mound.

Oscar never played baseball after that.  I felt really guilty at first.  But then, gradually, I began to develop a more philosophical perspective.  And I came to the self-actualized conclusion: Hey, he was crowding the plate.

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Farm Ball comes after Rookie Ball.  It's kid pitch.  Oddly, in Farm, when you get hit by a pitch, you don't get to take your base.  It's just counted as a ball, and you get right back in the batter's box for the next pitch.  (Nobody knows why.)

So one game, I've got Darvin on the mound.  He's pitching to Brice, the opposing coach's son.  Brice is a good athlete.  Big hitter.  Darvin is ahead on the count, and throws inside.  (Not on purpose, that's just where it goes sometimes.)  Like, way inside.  Brice turns away from the pitch and whack!  He's hit right in the middle of his back.

Brice goes down in a heap, wailing.  After a lot of encouragement from his coach/dad, he gets up and regains his composure, ready to face the next pitch.  Darvin rears back and...whack!  He hits Brice again.  In the exact same spot.  Brice is on the ground once more.  His mouth is open, but this time no sound comes out.  Even worse, he is actually curled up in the fetal position.  Us coaches generously decided to break the rules and let him take first.

Brice plays tennis, now.
 

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Okay, before you go thinking that I'm completely insensitive to kids getting hit by baseballs, Rookie and Farm don't actually use baseballs.  We use balls that look like baseballs, but are soft compression.  And besides, our catchers are perfectly fine even though they constantly get hit.

Why do they constantly get hit, do you ask?

Because for some reason, at that age, the kids who most want to play catcher, can't catch.  In fact, they don't even try.  They just squat there, while balls carom off their mitts, their shins, and even their heads.  They are virtually immobile.  Like little fire hydrants with uniforms.  It's one of the oddest things you'll ever see in the animal kingdom. 

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By the time they get to the Minor League, the balls do start to hurt.  The balls are harder and the pitchers throw faster.  And some of those pitchers are pretty wild.  One kid this past Spring hit three batters IN A ROW.  Not sure what the coach was thinking, but he kept his ace in there.  The next batter didn't even want to leave the dugout.  He was too afraid to go anywhere near the plate.  Finally, he was convinced to just stand on the edge of the box and not even swing.  His coach instructed him to "get walked or get out of the way."
 

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Last fall, I managed our Major League Fall Ball team.  There are typically two kinds of kids who play Fall Ball.  Kids who love baseball and can't get enough.  And kids who have no idea why they are there.

(As a coach, you just hope the less experienced kids don't get hurt.  Usually, the players are pretty good at knowing skill levels, and they adjust their game accordingly.  For example, during Farm Ball games, Darvin used to actually roll the ball to some of his teammates.  Who still couldn't come up with it.)
 

So one game, a kid rips a hard grounder to left center field.  Darvin scoops up the ball on the run.  There's a runner on second, so he fires the ball to third, thinking Fern was covering.  But it was Benny at third...who is staring at the hitter running to first.  The ball misses his head by inches and flies past, banging into the dugout fence.  Benny is still standing there, now looking at the ball by the fence.

As the hitter rounds second, I yell to Benny.

"Hey, Benny, would you mind getting that?!"

Benny turns to me and yells back. 

"Why me?!  I didn't throw that!" 

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"Oh, c'mon Deadwood, stop your ranting.  What about good plays?  There must have been a few."

By far, the most spectacular play this past season happened in the Major Leagues (11/12 year olds.)  Otis is at bat with two strikes on him.  The pitcher throws a strike right down the middle, but the catcher drops the ball, which means Otis can try to take first.  (Dropped Third Strike Rule.)  (Nobody knows why.)  Otis takes off as fast as he can and actually slides into first.

"No biggie, Deadwood.  It's uncommon, but a player will occasionally slide into first."

Still carrying his bat?

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Last year, I managed in the minor leagues.  We had a darn good team, and one day, I was in total control of the game out there.  So, I was probably like, giving off all kinds of masculine pheromones or something.  My wife is sitting in the bleachers, when a woman approaches her.

"Is that your husband in the dugout?"

"Yes, that is."

"Well, I have to tell you, I just can't keep my eyes off of him."

Okay, so this should be a wonderful moment for me.  I mean, it's not exactly like I've ever been declared People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive.  (I keep losing to Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp.  Politics.  Soooo frustrating...)  Anyway, a great boost to my ego, right?  You'd think.  Only, when Rooty relays this conversation to me, she is laughing hysterically.  It was the funniest thing in the world to her.

"Okay, let me in on the joke.  Why is that so funny?"

"Because she's so old.  You're attractive to a seventy year old woman!"

I was indignant at first.  And a little flustered, because I didn't know what to say.  But then, it came to me.  The perfect comeback.

"Okay, laugh all you want.  Just remember, she was young once."

Rooty didn't even blink.

"You mean back when her eyesight was still good?"