I Thought It Was All About the Kids!: . . .More Tales from the Dugout

By Coach Scooter Stevens

In his first book, Its All About the Kids, author and youth baseball coach Scooter Stevens presented an entertaining compilation of fictional stories based on actual events detailing humorous, lighthearted, and sometimes unsettling stories about the ever-present dark side of youth baseball.

Now comes his second book, I Thought It Was All About the Kids, which contains additional fictional stories based on actual events recalling his and others experiences coaching youth baseball.

Although the endearing and loveable stories are still prevalent in his new bookI Thought It Was All About the Kidsparental expectations, competitive pressures, and the ever-present adult manipulation led to an increased number of contentious tales from the dark side as the players grew older in age.

Join Coach Scooter Stevens through his journey coaching youth baseball in I Thought It Was All About the Kids!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524657703

Coach Scooter Stevens

Author Scooter Stevens has a unique perspective regarding an aspect of life that virtually every parent and child experiences at least once in their lifetime: youth sports. Scooter Stevens not only played youth baseball, basketball, and football since the age of five through his high school years but, as a parent of two children, he also has experienced youth sports from the prospective of a parent. Additionally, he has over ten years of experience coaching various youth sports, most notably his favorite, baseball. Scooter Stevens has coached over seven hundred youth baseball games during his coaching career. In the process, he has instructed hundreds of players between the ages of five through seventeen, and he has dealt with a vast spectrum of adult and parental personalities. As a result, he offers a wonderfully distinctive and entertaining fictional perspective of youth baseball based on his and other’s coaching experiences.

Book preview

PRE-GAME

In my first book, It’s All About the Kids, I wrote a fictional account about my, and other’s experiences as a youth baseball coach. I based my stories on many of the funny, endearing, and heartwarming events which occurred during the first several seasons of my coaching tenure. It’s All About the Kids started with my early memories of baseball from my childhood and how my parents, friends, and teammates influenced and impacted me to develop a love for the game of baseball.

It’s All About the Kids also documented my introduction into fatherhood with the births of both my son and daughter. It chronicled how their interest and subsequent participation in youth sports led me to become not only a youth baseball coach, but also a supportive father. As our kids grew older, my wife and I became involved in all of their social activities, sports, and academic endeavors.

I discovered while writing "It’s All About the Kids", that my experiences early on as a youth coach were new and exciting and the overall prevailing innocence offered not only by the kids, but also the parents, fellow coaches, and even the umpires at that time, contributed to so many unforgettable and wonderful stories.

It was my hope that by presenting a fictional account of these stories, anyone who read "It’s All About the Kids" and had children who participated in youth sports of any kind, or had themselves participated in youth sports, could relate to the stories, characters, and situations regardless of sport or geography.

In first my book, It’s All About the Kids, I based my fictional stories about the early years of my coaching tenure which included coaching teams in age groups ranging from six to nine years old. The aforementioned prevailing innocence contributed to the stories in those early years being heavily weighted with endearing and entertaining stories which would be more likely to bring a smile or even a tear to the reader. However, the early years were not immune to the dark side of youth sports including parental discontent and control, manipulation, and poor sportsmanship.

I now present my second book appropriately titled, I Thought It Was All About the Kids, which contains more fictional accounts of stories based on my coaching experience and those of others as the children we coached played from the ages of ten through twelve years old.

While I write about many wonderful and joyously memorable events which occurred in the later years of my coaching career in I Thought It Was All About the Kids, the ugly occurrences of youth sports politics, along with the increased parental expectations, and the emergence of manipulation were much more common as the kids got older. Despite this trend, the great times and experiences far outweighed the bad ones and I truly enjoyed virtually every minute of my coaching experience.

The stories and characters I have written about in this book, while fictional, are based on actual events which took place during my coaching career, as well as those events experienced by other coaches, players, and parents whom I knew over the years. Actual locations, names, and nicknames have been changed, and many of the stories written within were done so in collaboration with many others who were involved with, or shared my experiences.

To the kids, parents, coaches, umpires, and casual observers with whom I had the pleasure of interacting during my youth baseball coaching career, I thank you for a lifetime of memories packed into a few short years. I will probably never completely retire from coaching because of the simple joys coaching brings to my life, much of it thanks to all of you.

Finally, as a coach, my goals were always to teach the kids the wonderful game of baseball, have fun doing it, and facilitate an atmosphere whereby the kids and parents could become more acquainted and make the experience more enjoyable. If I was successful with these goals, then the wins would take care of themselves…which they almost always did for my teams.

My final goal was always for the kids to look back on their youth baseball experience as adults and say, The best time I ever had playing baseball was for Coach Scooter.

To you, the reader, I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed living it and writing it.

CHAPTER 1

Fall 2008 – 9U Minors

It was a short few weeks after the conclusion of 9U All-Stars that the fall 2008 season would begin and I was about to start my eighth season and fifth year as a youth baseball coach. This season would mean that our kids, now considered 10U, would play in the kid pitch minors (consisting of nine and ten year old players) for second spring season.

My coaching experience up to this point allowed me to experience a wide gamut of emotions ranging from pure joy to extreme bitterness and from deep concern to hysterical humor. In my first four years of coaching, I had a player almost die, I had a player get his front teeth knocked out, I was almost involved in a defamation lawsuit, and I witnessed many arguments that almost boiled over into fistfights.

The joy of coaching and positively impacting my players however, far outweighed the infrequent contentious experiences and I was excited to start another rec season at OAF (Our Athletic Facility) in our small suburb located in a southern state. I never wavered in my commitment to coach this season, but after more than two months of high-intensity all-star preparation and tournaments as the 9U All-Star head coach, I probably should have considered taking the season off to decompress. But the fact that my 9U OAF Rebels All-Star team had won the ABSO Southern State Championship a month prior still invigorated my competitive coaching desire.

Despite needing a short break, our coaching applications were due in to the board immediately after returning from the 9U Southeast Regional Tournament, and assessments were slated for the last week of August with opening day scheduled for mid-September.

The recent success of many of our all-star teams had made OAF a popular organization in our area as we experienced an influx of many new nine and ten year old registrants. This inflow, which impacted all age groups at OAF, also resulted in a general upgrade in overall talent. By the time assessments arrived, we had ninety one players registered along with ten coaches’ kids which gave us enough for ten teams of ten players each. One team would be burdened with an eleventh player until or unless more players signed up after assessments. I had yet to coach in any season or league at OAF whereby kids did not sign up after registration as this was a common occurrence.

The coaching contingent included the usual suspects whom I had coached with and against in previous seasons, including Coach Jack, Coach Carpy, Coach Babaloo, and Coach Mack, but my good buddy, Coach Stix, decided he needed a break from coaching this season to serve as the Commissioner for the Minors. There were some new names among our coaching contingent, but we were all familiar with one another as each had coached before or had a son who had played at OAF for some time.

Each of my 9U All-Star players from my Rebels team had signed up to play this season, and they now were the big dogs in the minors, representing the 10U group. We had such a deep and talented group of ten year old players, and the rising 9U group also had a talented, but not quite as deep of a group, as their all-star team had won the ABSO Coach-Pitch Southern State Championship a few weeks prior as well.

While most fall seasons were much more laid back than the spring seasons, it promised to be a very competitive fall season, as the coaching group was very strong and the player pool was even more impressive.

The preseason coaches’ meeting was brief and to the point. We were all crusty veterans, and there were no significant rule changes that we had to adjust to this season. It was interesting to see that of the ten teams, five coaches had sons (and one with a daughter) who were 10U, and the other five coaches had kids who were 9Us. The board had dictated that, yet again, a head coach could not predetermine his assistant coach, so each of us would have to rely on the draft not only to assemble our teams, but also to source assistant coaches.

The day of assessments was upon us, and it was a beautiful Saturday as the coaches and players arrived at Field A for our semiannual assessment ritual. The kids lined up early for check-in and Commissioner Stix had followed the ridiculous tradition of incredibly underestimating the amount of time allotted for each group to be assessed. Since most of the coaches had experienced this, we all hunkered down with our folding chairs in the outfield, complete with lunches, drinks, sunscreen, and scouting paraphernalia.

I mingled with the other coaches as the kids warmed up, and we joked about who would win the league this season and poked occasional fun at the helicopter dads. These were the ones who refused to let their sons warm up with another player and instead insisted on being on the field to protect his future major leaguer.

It was difficult to assess the talent of many of the players as they warmed up, but the ones who were really good and the ones on the other side of the spectrum always stood out.

On one side of the talent ledger was a very athletic-looking player who we heard had just moved into the area. He would eventually become known as the Cheetah and he caught the attention of every coach on the field as he warmed up. His arm was strong, as was his build. He also flashed a million-dollar smile to everyone who spoke with him.

On the opposite side of the talent ledger was a small, thin boy who wore blue jeans and a ragged T-shirt. He was visibly un-athletic and based on the fact that none of the coaches had ever heard of him, we all assumed he was new to the organization and had never played baseball before. What really made him stand out, however, was the wildest-looking pair of baseball cleats I had ever seen. From my vantage point about forty yards away, his shoes glistened with a metallic silver color in the bright sunlight, accented by a thick, crimson stripe that ran from the middle base of each shoe back to the heel, much like the Puma shoe company logo. His blue jeans made the shoes stand out even more as the coaches pontificated if they were soccer cleats.

Just before the assessments were to begin and the coaches assembled in the outfield, the bombastic Coach Magoo, who had thankfully decided not to be a head coach this season, sauntered out onto the field to greet the coaching contingent. He immediately and loudly referred to the skinny kid with blue jeans and bright soccer shoes and chuckled in a machismo manner that the kids’ two dads were up in the stands. We all knew what that meant, but to the credit of the coaches, nobody took the bait, as we were there to assess the kids and plan for our teams. It was obvious to every coach that whoever ended up with this player, it would be challenging simply from a safety standpoint as he was not very skilled or coordinated.

The assessments started late as usual, but due to the number of kids who had signed up and the high number of new names on our assessment sheets, each coach was glued to the action. One new coach in particular, Coach Droopy soon would take assessing the kids to a new level.

I had met Coach Droopy a couple of seasons before when I volunteered to assist with registration at OAF in the board room. Coach Droopy had a son who was a year younger than my son, Bear, and he manned the T-ball table while I worked the coach-pitch registrations. In the three hours we sat next to each other during registration, we engaged in a number of very nice conversations, and I subsequently commented to some of my friends what a good guy he seemed to be. His son took a few seasons off from playing baseball after we first met at registration, but he returned to the organization in time for his 9U minor season, and he volunteered to coach a team in the minors this season.

I had spoken to Coach Droopy at the coaches’ meeting, and as I typically did with the new coaches, I told him that if he had any questions or needed any information on any player, that I would be happy to provide it to him. Since I had coached for so many seasons, I was very familiar with a majority of the kids and I liked to promote collegiality among the new coaches each season, as did most (but not all) of my peers. He thanked me for the offer, but unlike most of the new coaches I had offered previously, he never asked me for any information or assistance.

It was somewhat of a tradition that all of the coaches sit in a group near each other during the assessments, bantering back and forth and giving each other a hard time. But from the very beginning of the session, Coach Droopy kept his distance from everyone. He would say hello and speak briefly, but it was evident to everyone that he was taking these assessments very seriously.

This hypothesis was quickly validated when he opened up a bag that he had brought to the field and removed a tripod and video camera to film the assessments. The old guard coaching contingent looked on in amazement as Coach Droopy set up his camera. We weren’t completely sure what we were witnessing as the raised eyebrows and snarky comments commenced.

The show became even more bizarre after he turned on his camera, pulled out a small tape recorder, and started to patrol the third base/left field line as the players were taking turns with their assessments. Based on what we were witnessing, we deduced that he was building a video and audio file on every player. None of the coaches had ever seen anything like this before, and the intensity displayed by Coach Droopy as he paced up and down the baseline and spoke into his voice recorder only exacerbated the comedic remarks from his fellow coaches.

As the time passed, it seemed evident that he was really in this to win it and his methodology and intensity hit a sore spot with some of the coaches. We liked to banter and have fun with each other and were a collegial group, and there was a general feeling that Coach Droopy wanted nothing to do with the rest of us nor did he not seek counsel or advice from anyone, at least of which we were aware.

Coach Droopy’s assessment tactics were only part of his strategy to get a leg up on everyone else. In an unusual turn of events, we had selected our draft order numbers at the coaches’ meeting a few days prior to assessments rather than doing this immediately after assessments as we had done every season previously.

Coach Jack, one of my cronies from the old coach pitch days and former assistant to me on my all-star team, had selected the first pick, however, his son Flash would be slotted as a first round pick so in actuality, the person who picked number two out of the hat would garner the first actual pick. Coach Droopy was the lucky coach to pick number two out of the hat and unbeknownst to any of the other coaches, he had contacted Commissioner Stix prior to assessments and told him that he planned to select Commissioner Stix’s son, Red Jet with his first pick.

Red Jet was unquestionably rated as a top five talent in his age group, but there were a couple other players who probably would have been a slightly better pick due to sheer athleticism and versatility. In a stroke of genius though, Coach Droopy had just secured one of the best sources of player information at OAF in Commissioner Stix. It would prove to be one of the reasons why Coach Droopy took the lone wolf attitude during the assessments and the draft, because he did not NEED any information from any of us.

He and Commissioner Stix had already discussed player rankings and would devise a draft strategy after the assessments knowing that Red Jet would be the overall number one pick. Some of the coaches took offense with this tactic, but after learning about his plan, I thought Coach Droopy was playing it very smart. What I did not like however, was the secretive and ultra-competitive attitude that he was displaying with his super spy video analysis and tape recordings. I, along with a few other coaches decided that he would be the coach whose team we would want to thump this season.

The assessments and the draft the following day were completed with no real issues with the exception of a situation I had with Coach Droopy. As I had always done, I had developed my top to bottom rankings list along with my wish list of kids whom I would try to pick later in the draft, regardless of the rankings because they were great kids and/or had great parents. My draft order was number four, but since Bear was slotted as a first round pick, I would not pick until the second round after eight players had already been drafted.

I would get a good player at number eight, but not one of the top players available so it was imperative that my middle round draft picks were solid. I had identified one of my former players, Hollywood as one of the kids I wanted because although he was smallish in stature, he was a solid fundamental player. His nickname would eventually be shortened to Woody and another reason I wanted him was because we were friends with Woody’s parents and I wanted his dad, Deuce as one of my assistant coaches.

Deuce had pleaded with me numerous times prior to the season to draft Woody as he was worried that another coach may eventually draft him. He specifically told me that he did not want Coach Droopy to draft Woody and even though they were friends and he had nothing against Coach Droopy, he wanted Woody to play for me again as he had as a seven year old.

I had heard from a couple of coaches during the draft that Coach Droopy was going to try to draft Woody so after my pick in the sixth round, I approached Coach Droopy and asked him as a courtesy, not to select Woody. This would happen in almost every draft in the later rounds as coaches would approach others and ask them not to draft a certain player. The impact was typically minimal in the later rounds as a majority of the kids drafted in these rounds were not impact players. Woody was definitely above average in talent, but being a 9U player and not having played in kid-pitch minors before, it would be a stretch that he would be an impact player at this age.

Coach Droopy had two picks before my next selection and I approached him and asked him if he would do me a favor and not select Woody with either of his two picks. He looked at me with an insidious glare and told me that he indeed planned to select him, as Woody’s dad had asked him to draft him if he got the chance. I was baffled. The only thing I could think of was that prior to the draft, Coach Droopy had informed Deuce that he wanted to pick Woody and just to be nice Deuce said, That would be great. In reality, Deuce had specifically told me in the most certain of terms that he did not want Woody playing for Coach Droopy that season, but I could not inform Coach Droopy of this.

Coach Droopy proceeded to tell me that Deuce had asked him to pick Woody and that they were good friends. I told Coach Droopy the same thing and I was nearing the point where I was going to step out of the room, call Deuce and have him text Coach Droopy that he wanted me to draft his son and not Coach Droopy. We went back and forth for a couple of minutes and it appeared my efforts to convince him not to draft Woody were futile as he did not relent.

On his next pick, he did not pick Woody, but I was certain he would on his subsequent selection. I had already texted Deuce that I did not think I was going to get a chance to draft Woody, but in a surprise move, just before Coach Droopy made his next selection, he looked across the table at me and said, You owe me one and called out another player’s name other than Woody.

I thanked him for helping me out and now all I had to do was to make sure Coach Carpy did not draft Woody with the next pick, which he had no intention of doing, so I was able to select him with my pick. I appreciated Coach Droopy’s concession and made it known to him more than once during the remainder of the draft. Although it was sporting of him to accommodate my request, he seemed irritated that he had given in to me.

As the last and eleventh round approached, there were five kids remaining on the board with three blinds. I had the fourth pick in this round which meant I would have the daunting task of choosing between the last two players available before the blind picks were assigned. By the time my pick rolled around, one of my choices was a kid whom I had ranked as dead last on my analysis list. My comment next to his name read, Maybe the worst player in the draft. My other choice was the boy who had shown up at assessments with jeans and metallic colored cleats and whom I had ranked just slightly higher than my other choice.

I deliberated for what seemed to be ten minutes before Commissioner Stix, who was present in the draft room, recommended that I select the kid with the metallic colored cleats. He said that he had spent some time with him at assessments and that he was a really sweet kid and that he thought my coaching style would greatly benefit him. He knew I had experience with this type of kid as I had coached Sandman, Smilin’ Nick, and Bingo in the past, and this would be a similar situation. I had really enjoyed the challenge of coaching those kids so I accepted Commissioner Stix’s recommendation and selected the boy with metallic cleats. It must have been fate, because Shoes, as he would late become nicknamed, would go on to become one of my favorite players of all time.

There were only three blinds or players who nobody knew anything about and who did not attend assessments, and as a result of a couple of kids dropping out, nine of the ten teams would have eleven players. However, one team, the White Sox coached by Coach Babaloo, would only have ten.

It always seemed like Coach Babaloo came out smelling like a rose every season. During this season, it appeared as though he would not be strapped with the additional eleventh player, which in a continuous batting order almost always resulted in an automatic out. But as was typical with Coach Babaloo, his already advantageous situation would be enhanced even more when he was eventually assigned an eleventh player a week later due to a late registration.

For some reason, most kids who registered late always seemed to fall into the lower level of the talent pool, but this season just after the draft, a new player had moved to town and had registered to play at OAF. It would turn out that this new kid in town who was eventually assigned to Coach Babaloo as his eleventh player, would become one of the top players in the league.

The draft was completed and my team, while not stellar, was solid. Based also on the fact that I had chosen some of the kids more due to their parents, I knew we would at least have a fun season. It was, however, one of the first seasons where I did not think my team was one of the top two or three in the league when comparing my roster to others, but overall, I was happy with my selections and would again be coaching the Indians this season. My team would consist of:

Bear

Bull

H2

DP

Racer

Jedi

Woody

Rocko

Killer

CB/Carlos

Shoes

I had coached only four of my players previously and I was familiar with their personalities and talents. I had also coached against four other players on my roster over the years so I had a basic understanding of their abilities as well. But was unfamiliar with remaining three players and had no idea what I had. It would turn out to be one of the most eclectic group of kids and parents that I would ever coach.

My assistant coaching staff would consist of Deuce and Coach James, who was H2’s dad and had coached baseball at a high level for many years. I was excited to coach with James and learn from him in the process. Coach Deuce was an outstanding high school player who once played college baseball, so I knew the kids would be properly developed during the season. They would also undoubtedly feed off of Deuce’s enthusiastic personality!

After calling all of my players to inform them that they would be on my Indians team for this season, I scheduled our first practice and requested that the parents be present. My preseason parent/coach meeting was conducted before our first practice and my ever growing Manifesto was recited yet again to the blank zombie-like faces of the parents.

The parent/coach meeting Manifesto that I developed when I coached in coach-pitch was two outlined pages in length (see appendix A) and its’ main purpose was to highlight my coaching philosophy, expectations I had for the kids and the parents, expectations the parents should have for the coaches, and explanations of how to treat the other teams and umpires. It also covered playing time and positioning of players and an explanation how the regular season and tournament would be handled.

I developed my Manifesto and presented it to my parents before each season I coached. One of the most important effects of my preseason parent/coach meetings were that they allowed me to get to know the parents on a first name basis from the outset. Getting to know ALL of the parents and addressing them by their first name was extremely important to building an immediate rapport.

We had a few practices and it became quickly evident that I was short on pitching, deficient of middle infielders, and not deep at the catcher’s position, but I sure had a plethora of outfielders! This would be one of my most challenging seasons from a coaching standpoint as we definitely had a number of kids to develop if our team was to be successful.

Opening Day finally arrived and our first game was against the Diamondbacks coached by Coach Brad. Coach Brad was a great guy, but may have been one of the worst coaches in OAF history. His draft strategy was always haphazard and full of surprises and his teams up to that point had never attained a winning record. His roster this season, however, was as strong as any team in the league and I knew we were in for a battle.

Opening Day was always fun at OAF and although pageantry for the fall season was not like that of the spring season, it was always an exciting atmosphere at the park. There were no Opening Day Ceremonies this season and we had been scheduled to play at 10:00 a.m. on Field M which meant we were officially the first game of the season.

Despite the early morning start, a large crowd gathered to watch our game including a full contingent of Indians parents who completely filled in the bleachers next to our dugout along first base. I was thrilled to see our parents come out in large numbers to our first game as I was concerned that since many of them did not know each other, they would not sit together to cheer on the kids.

The game itself was played at a record pace. We raced to a 4-1 lead through three innings but in the process, we also had seven of our batters strike out of the sixteen kids that were sent to the plate. Bear was my starting pitcher and had a strong first two innings, holding the Diamondbacks scoreless while striking out five.

My plan was to pitch Bear the first two innings, then Jedi the next two innings, and close the game with Racer. Jedi was a kid whom I had never coached before, but had known him since he was about two years old. I drafted him mainly because Shelly and I knew his parents from church and although we were more acquaintances than friends, we always liked Jedi’s parents. He had not played baseball in a number of years and wanted to sign up to play this season. I picked him up in the sixth round and thought I got the steal of the draft as a result.

Jedi was not overtly athletic from a baseball standpoint, but made up for this by sheer determination. He was a quiet kid and had a subdued but intense nature about him. He was a kid who would not say much but who would run through a brick wall without a helmet on if you asked him to. Jedi would eventually develop into an outstanding high school swimmer later in life.

He was a lefty who pitched with decent velocity, but he had a lot of movement on his ball when we worked with him in practice. He had never pitched before so it was a calculated risk putting him out on the mound on Opening Day with a 4-0 lead in the bottom of the third.

Jedi quickly established himself as a diamond in the rough as he promptly struck out the first batter he faced. He proceeded to walk the next two batters and endured an error by our catcher before striking out the last two batters of the inning.

Throughout Jedi’s first inning on the mound, Jedi’s dad, Greg was an absolute riot in the stands. I had known him to be a very gregarious guy with the gift of being extremely quick witted and although I could not hear what he was saying in the stands, he had our parents in stitches. Coach Deuce in particular, who was serving as my first base coach laughed hysterically at Greg’s numerous comments and was accused by Shelly of developing somewhat of a man crush on Greg as the season progressed.

Greg had two older boys who had played baseball at OAF and he had actually been an assistant coach the previous season with the Yankees in the majors. The head coach of the Yankees at the time, Coach Wiley, who I would get to know fairly well, would tell me stories of Greg’s comedic motivational tactics in the dugout with the kids, which normally helped put the team at ease during a game. But there were times, as Coach Wiley told me, where Greg would become a little unnerved and drop an F-bomb under his breath that unfortunately could be heard by more than one player.

Coach Wiley once laughed uncontrollably as he recalled a story of when an opposing kid got a hit in a critical juncture of a game and Greg muttered something to the effect of, You gotta be fucking kidding me! He continued with, The kid couldn’t hit his way out of a paper bag, has went zero for life at the plate, and he gets a hit NOW? Greg later admitted to me that he was thankful that at least one of his boys, Jedi, did not inherit his penchant for swear-ology! I was certain that Greg was not expressing these types of cursing comments from the stands during our game, but I knew that his quick wit and folksy sayings could incite any crowd to laughter.

We had also experienced his unique brand of comedy throughout the previous weeks as he had helped us in practice by throwing batting practice in the batting cages. Every batting practice session Greg assisted with became a circus in itself.

As Coach Deuce, Coach James, and I worked with the team on the field executing various drills during practice, we would rotate players from the field to the batting cages where Greg occasionally threw batting practice. He quickly incorporated animated verbal commentary for virtually every pitch while in the batting cage, which we could clearly hear on the field. His favorite targets were the lesser talented players who would not swing at a perfectly thrown pitch.

It was not uncommon to hear Greg jokingly yell, Carlos, what in sweet Jesus’s name are you waiting for? Or "Shoes, you didn’t swing at that…Holy Mother of Pearl! Or Rocko, you gotta be kidding me…That was a piece of prime center cut pork I just threw you! My personal favorite was a phrase he would occasionally utter just before he threw a pitch, If there is a God in Heaven you will swing at this pitch"! His comments were all in jest and the kids (and parents) actually got a big kick out of it and Greg certainly made practices and games more fun.

Greg outdid himself one practice however, when he volunteered to be the catcher as I threw live batting practice from the mound. His verbal quips and humorous taunts were taken to a new level as he assumed the catcher’s position behind the plate without shin guards, a mask, or the all-important protective cup. A foul tip directly back in his face would have unquestionably knocked out his teeth or broken his nose and a wild pitch or thrown bat certainly could have put a severe hurting on him. But he persisted and his playful banter with the kids continued as the parents gathered around the fence to witness his hijinks. Fortunately Greg emerged unscathed and his personality and unconventional methods really made for enjoyable practices and memorable season.

Greg also changed some of the player’s nicknames as CB became Carlos for some unknown reason and Bear became Costco because Greg said he got RBI’s in Bulk. But Greg was at his very best when he brought a portable P.A. system for one of our games and served as the play-by-play announcer. He did a masterful job announcing the game as he remained neutral for both teams, but added his witty humor to nearly every situation. His favorite target was of course the umpire, who had as much fun with Greg as did the crowd.

Jedi continued his pitching mastery through the bottom of the fourth inning and left the mound with a 5-2 lead. Racer came in to close the game out and we emerged with a 5-2 victory on Opening Day as our pitchers tossed a combined one hitter while striking out twelve. The Diamondback’s pitchers also fared well as they allowed only three hits and struck out fifteen batters. But their pitchers allowed nine walks which was the difference in the game.

After we defeated the Diamondbacks in the season opener, we faced Coach Beebee’s Orioles team in the next game. As I expected, the game was well played and was close throughout.

Coach Beebee was one of the best coaches at OAF and concentrated heavily on teaching the basic fundamentals of the game. As a result, his teams were always competitive and his kids always improved as the season progressed.

In our game against the Orioles, we trailed 11-10 going into the bottom of the sixth when Carlos and Shoes lead off the inning with consecutive strike outs. H2 who was a very solid player and our leadoff batter, earned a base on balls before Bear roped a shot to right center field for a double and driving in H2 with the tying run.

I waved Bear around second base in an attempt to stretch the hit into a triple as the throw came in to the cutoff man from right center field. The ball beat Bear to third base and as he saw the third baseman ready to tag him on the slide, he quickly turned back to second base and was summarily caught in a pickle. The pickle did not last long as when the third baseman threw the ball back to second base, Bear turned back to third. The ball was quickly thrown back to third base and as Bear pivoted to return to second, the third baseman overthrew the second baseman and the ball sailed back out into right field. Bear collected himself and scampered to third then around to home to score the winning run long before the ball was collected and thrown to the catcher and we won 12-11.

We would go on to win our next five games and start the season 7-0 which was beyond anything I had predicted. Despite a close 12-10 win against Cardinals, we handled the Yankees 15-8, beat the Mets 10-7, defeated the Cardinals again 9-4, and took care of Coach Droopy’s Braves 12-6. We had a chance to mercy rule Coach Droopy as we had a 12-1 lead going into the bottom of the fourth inning but they scored three runs to extend the game until the end of the fifth inning when we ran into the time limit.

One of the lowlights of the game against the Braves however came in the fourth inning when Bear inadvertently hit Coach Droopy’s son in the ankle while pitching. Bear threw as hard as any pitcher in the league and when the ball hit Coach Droopy’s son, I knew he could have been injured. Sure enough, his ankle sustained an injury that would keep him out of the next several games.

I felt terrible about what had happened as Coach Droopy’s son was not only a good baseball player, but a very nice young man. I hated to see him or any kid miss time on the field. Bear however, felt even worse. He did not know Coach Droopy’s son well at all, but on the way home he asked me if there was anything he could do. I told Bear that these things just happened in baseball and everyone knew it was an accident. Although Bear knew he could not turn the clock back, he wanted to do something so he asked me to stop at a local store where he bought Coach Droopy’s son a few packs of baseball cards.

We went to the field during their next game and Bear went over to apologize to Coach Droopy and his son for hitting him with a pitch, and he then handed Coach Droopy’s son the baseball cards. Coach Droopy’s son smiled and said thank you and Coach Droopy patted Bear on the back and commented how nice it was for him to think of his son. I was really proud of my son and it was a nice moment to share with Coach Droopy and his son as well.

Our eighth game of the season pitted us against Coach Babaloo’s White Sox who were also having a good season. The game was played on a Tuesday night which meant it was a school night and for some reason my teams never seemed to play as well during the week as they did on the weekends. All I had heard this season was about the Phenom that Coach Babaloo had acquired as his eleventh player as a result of the last minute registration. The new player had quickly and sarcastically garnered the nickname Chosen One by some of the other coaches.

It was nothing against the kid whatsoever, but it was a tribute to Coach Babaloo’s seemingly never ending good luck. I had seen the Chosen One play a couple of times and concurred that he was very good. He was the probably the best catcher in the league and he was also a switch hitter which was extremely rare at this age. He had a very strong arm and could pitch, but his accuracy was very suspect. If he wasn’t the best player in the league, he was unquestionably one of the top two to three players in the league.

The game started auspiciously for us as the White Sox jumped out to a 2-0 lead in the top of the first. We were able to get one run back in our half of the inning to close the lead to 2-1. After both teams went scoreless in the second inning, the White Sox scored three in the top of the third to take a 5-1 lead which was cut to 5-3 after we scored two in our half of the inning.

As we left the dugout to take the field, I received a phone call from my sister who lived out of state. My mom had remarried a number of years after my dad had passed away suddenly many years before and I knew that my mom’s husband had been very ill with respiratory disease. He had taken a serious turn for the worse the day before our game against the White Sox and I had an uneasy feeling that my sister was calling me with some bad news so I answered the call.

My premonition was right as she proceeded to inform me that he had passed away. I could not talk long and told my sister I would call her back within the hour to get the details, but I knew I would be on an airplane to be with my mom the next day.

I was not close with her husband whatsoever and we had butted heads a number of times throughout their marriage. Although we generally got along, I had no real desire to develop a close relationship with him nor did he feel compelled to do so with me, but my mom seemed happy with his companionship and I was sorry to hear he had passed away. I felt much more saddened for my mom as she had to endure the loss of yet another husband. I went to the fence line and got Shelly’s attention to inform her of the bad news and before I knew it, many others throughout the park had also found out.

I was feeling very badly for my mom and could only think of what she was going through as the game continued. We would eventually lose our first game of the season to the White Sox 11-6 and as I drove home to make plans to fly home to see my mom the next day, I realized how unimportant the outcome of a kid’s baseball game was in the grand scheme of life. It hit me that the examples I could set as a coach, the life lessons I could teach the kids whom I coached, and the relationships I developed over the course of the season were by far the most important responsibilities I had as a coach.

Our next game against the Rays was not until Saturday so I would be absent for three days for the services and return in time for that game. The coach of the Rays, Coach Spots was a good guy and was very laid back. I had never coached against him before now, but had gotten to know him over the course of the season and I enjoyed watching his son play, as he was one of the stronger players in the 9U age group. We had a better team overall, but this would be the first game after our first loss of the season and I was anxious to see how my kids would react.

The game was tight through three and a half innings as we held a small 4-1 lead but the Rays would score four in the bottom of the fourth to take a 5-4 lead. We came to bat in the top of the fifth down by one run and our first two batters popped up to the infield for two quick outs. Our next batter, the Bull earned a walk and represented the tying run.

While Bull was a very good hitter, he was not only the slowest runner in the league, but maybe on the planet! As a result, the coaches, players, and parents of the Rays knew that I had no intention of stealing him to second base. As a result, I thought we had a perfect opportunity to surprise the Rays and after giving the batter his signs, I made a concerted and loud effort to get Bull’s attention because I was indeed going to try to steal him.

When I looked over at first base, my first base coach, Coach Deuce was nowhere near his coaches’ box to help the Bull with my sign. Instead, Coach Deuce had parked himself away from first base and along the first base fence line with a snow cone in hand casually talking it up with one of the Rays parents.

I quickly called timeout and strolled down the third base line toward home plate as if I wanted to speak with my batter. Coach Deuce, still oblivious to the stoppage in the action continued to chow down on his snow cone and talk in an animated fashion to the Rays parent. As I got closer to home plate, I turned to our crowd in the bleachers and said to them, Check out my first base coach riveted to the action. Most of them were not paying much attention to him before my comment but after a couple of seconds they realized what I was referring to and they began to make catcalls to Coach Deuce jokingly chiding him for being derelict in his duty. Still, Coach Deuce chatted away, enjoying his multi-flavored snow cone with the zest of a four year old at the carnival.

After a few moments, I was advised by Cary our umpire to resume the game. As I walked back to my coaches’ box on third base, I threw my arms out to my sides and yelled over to Coach Deuce, Hey Deuce, can I get you some popcorn or peanuts, or maybe a lounge chair? Coach Deuce laughed and reacted to my comment by jumping back to coach first base with a sheepish grin on his face, all the while continuing to wolf down his snow cone.

I decided against stealing Bull as I wanted to try to get the top of our order up one last time before the end of the game and if he would have been thrown out, it would have ended the inning. My strategy worked as Rocko earned a walk as well, but the inning ended on a DP pop up to shortstop.

It took a while for Coach Deuce to return to the dugout after the third out and he made a conscious effort to take a path directly across to the field to the dugout rather than walk by our fans who continued to heckle him the remainder of the game.

The Rays scored three more runs in the bottom of the fifth to extend their lead to 8-4 and we had one last chance in the top of the sixth. The bottom half of our order was due up in this half of the inning so things did not look very promising. Despite our hopes appearing dim, Jedi lead off the inning with a walk and Killer bounced a single between the third baseman and shortstop and we quickly had two runners on base.

In a genius coaching move, I had purposefully moved Woody down to the tenth slot in our batting order in an effort to buffer the position between our ninth batter Carlos and our eleventh batter, Shoes. I was certain those two had developed a secret plan between them to purposefully lead the league in back to back strike outs as they had successfully done so eight times up to this point of the season! Putting Woody in the ten hole at least put a halt to their strike out streak.

Carlos continued his end of the bargain by striking out on three pitches, but Woody stemmed the tide temporarily by garnering a walk. Not to be outdone by Carlos’s feat of futility, Shoes followed suit with a strikeout of his own, but at least he had worked the count to 2-2 before the inevitable K. With two outs and the bases loaded, our leadoff batter Racer nailed a line drive single up the middle to score two runs, cutting the Ray’s lead to 8-6. Bear followed up with a deep fly ball double to left field scoring two more and we tied the game at eight. Bear, however, was thrown out at third on a great throw to the base from Coach Spot’s son who ran out to left field to be the cutoff man.

The game would go into extra innings after we held the Rays scoreless in the bottom of the sixth. In the top of the seventh, Bull led off with another walk and since Coach Deuce had successfully finished eating his snow cone I was able to relay an unexpected steal sign to him and Bull at first base. Bull got a great jump and since their infield never suspected he would actually steal, nobody covered second base and the steal attempt was a success! I was impressed with Bull’s base running as he actually turned on the jets getting down to second base and the crowd roared with approval. The smile on Bull’s face was priceless as it was his first stolen base of the season and possibly the first of his career!

Rocko followed with a strike out, but then DP chopped a hard grounder to third which eluded the third baseman and travelled down the left field line far enough that the Bull was able to score.

DP was a kid whom I had not coached before, but I had coached against him and was always impressed with his skills. When he was seven and I was the all-star coordinator, Coach Jack nominated him for all-stars. He had a solid assessment, but much to my surprise he was not selected for the 7U All-Star Team. I also did not know his parents, but knew of them and everyone who spoke of them spoke very well so I figured I was getting a good kid and good family when I drafted DP.

Much like Jedi, DP was quietly intense and was very slight of build and but smaller in stature than Jedi. He resembled a little Dutch Boy which would have been a great nickname for him, but after I called him Dutch a couple of times early on, he grimaced and told me that I needed to find another nickname for him! I loved his spunk for telling me that!

DP had a terrific glove and had very soft hands which allowed him to effectively play bad hops. I needed someone to play first base who was agile, had a good glove, and could handle throws from Bear at shortstop and Bull from third base as both had very strong arms. DP had never played first base before but was up to the task and played outstanding for us at first base all season. His Achilles Heel was hitting with power and he had a tendency to be very hard on himself when he did not get on base.

I immediately bonded with DP’s parents as both were from the Chicago area and were Cubs fans. Since I was born in the area Chicago and my favorite MLB team was the Cubs, it was a natural fit. They turned out to be great people just as I had been told and over the course of the season and DP’s dad earned the nickname Turn Two from me.

His nickname came as a result of his habit of excitedly shouting Turn Two to the infield each and every time the opposing team would have a runner reach first base. The term Turn Two quickly became a crowd and coach