The Base Hit © William A. Patsis 2004Sometimes there is that rare moment that causes one to reflect on those matters that are deemed important and deflect those that are not. It is a very humbling experience but a nice feeling nevertheless. I had one of those moments.
Spring time has many activities for kids. The most notable, or at least it was when I was young, is baseball. Moving into a new area and signing up Evan (10) and Dimitri (8) in
winter was originally intended to have them participate in an activity they were familiar with and hopefully sidetrack wonderful memories they had in our previous home during moving transition. Signing them up came with conditions, particularly from Evan. He would play if I could become his coach. Now pressure was on me. I knew agreeing to this condition would make my already hectic life even more difficult. But there comes a time where you just do it, and live with consequences. I agreed to become a coach.
Little League was divided into 4 divisions. T-Ball, Coach Pitch, Major Minor, and Little League. Since Evan was 10 and they were unfamiliar with his abilities, he had to participate in a tryout. If he wasn’t picked, he would automatically go to Major Minor division. Dimitri already qualified for Major Minors and did not need a tryout. If he did tryout, they would’ve discovered a natural athlete who already possessed skills that surpassed his older brother. The tryout was preceded with a voluntary clinic which we participated in. Watching him from sidelines with other boys, it was apparent that he really wasn’t skilled at game. It was disheartening since this was a game that I played faithfully throughout my youth and ended as a starting pitcher for my high school team. I started to feel very guilty watching him at clinic. Why did I not spend more time with him teaching game? His frustration showed but he completed clinic. During clinic I was told by one of organizers coaches for Little League were intact, basically same ones from previous years, but there was a need for a Major Minor coach and that Dimitri could play for me and if Evan was not going to be picked for Little League he also could play for me. I agreed to do it and looked forward in seeing both of my sons play together and under my direction.
The tryout was following week at local high school gym. The gym was divided by an air wall. I observed parents sitting in bleachers while some kids were warming up by throwing to each other. On other side of air wall were coaches conducting drills in groups of 5 or 6. Parents were not permitted to observe drills. I asked Evan to go on floor and start warming up with some of kids, but he was reluctant. Being shy to begin with, coupled with not knowing any of kids; he was very hesitant to go out. It was frustrating to me since I knew he really needed practice. Finally he went on floor to throw. Just watching his poor mechanics made me feel bad again. I felt this was going to be a damaging episode to his ego and eliminate any idea that baseball was a cool sport. They called his name and he disappeared onto other side. Afterwards when asked how he did, he simply said OK.
Much to our surprise, we received a call from Frank a coach for Little League, who informed us that Evan was going to play on his team. Evan was elated, I was shocked. Never in my mind did I think he would make it.
Frank, we were told by others in league, was a tough coach who approached game with a no nonsense attitude. At this first practice, this was very apparent. He was a drill sergeant, calling kids knuckleheads, demanding their utmost attention and not tolerating a bad effort. Despite his apparent demeanor, I learned this team, Rockies, won league last year going undefeated. In fact he lost very little over years. When I asked him if could become an assistant coach, he calmly told me he already had 2 assistant coaches, maximum allowed under league rules. I could however, participate in drills if I wished. So I did. I helped out a coach named Phil, whose son was on team and one of stars, with outfield players of whom Evan was grouped with. The other coach, Kevin, was usually working with infielders.
Evan could not catch a fly ball nor throw it with any strength. But he seemed eager. Coach Phil was very encouraging and afterwards told me things he felt I should do to help him get better. I listened. I did not want to be arrogant and explain to him I knew game of baseball. If I did, how would I explain why my son was so poor? When Evan came to bat it was even uglier. Standing close to backstop with Frank throwing batting practice, he did not hit even one. But Frank was encouraging, time and time again saying it was his fault for not throwing better. This might have been somewhat true since Evan was last one to bat and his arm was probably shot. The rest of kids already had gathered by pitchers mound knowing Evan was not going to hit anything remotely close to infield. And gathering balls was too easy since they were all laying around Evan’s feet from all of pitches thrown and missed. It was disheartening.
