I coached t-ball and rec league baseball for 9 years. I have some stories from that era of my life that still make me laugh out loud.
Let me tell you about a young aspiring ball player whose name was not Robert but since he still lives in town and I don't want to embarrass him, that's what I'm going to call him.
One Saturday morning, Robert ran up to me while I was trying to get all the equipment out and ready to go. He got my attention and said, "Coach! Coach! Coach! Can I catch? I want to catch! Please can I catch? I know I can catch."
I told Robert that I thought he would make an outstanding catcher and as soon as it was his turn to catch, I would help him get geared up.
So in the third inning, it became Roberts turn to catch.
His dad and I spent several minutes getting Robert geared up in so much equipment that he could hardly stand up under all the weight. I carried him to the plate, stood him up and told him all he had to do was get the ball after I pitched and throw it back to me. Then I walked towards the pitchers mound.
As the coach (or chief babysitter), I had to make sure that every player is at least paying enough attention to get out of the way if a ball is hit to them.
The process of getting the team ready to play is a well defined process that usually goes something like this:
I first had to tell the first baseman and the third baseman to stop throwing dirt clods at the outfielders, turn around and look at home plate.
Then I had to tell the "pitcher" to put his glove back on, take his ball cap off his face and put it back on his head.
Then I had to tell the shortstop to release the poor dragonfly and leave it alone because that particular dragonfly never bothered anyone and besides, they eat mosquitoes, which everyone hates.
After I had my infield in the "ready position", I had to then address the outfield: Stop blowing dandelion seeds all over the place, stop chasing butterflies, leave the dog alone, etc...
When I finally reached the mound. I turned to find that my catcher had somehow magically disappeared.
I yelled over to his dad, "Have you seen Robert?" His dad, being a dad kind of guy, immediately let out a dad-bellow, "ROBERT! WHERE ARE YOU? GET OVER HERE!"
Robert came toddling out from the woods from behind the backstop with a frog in one hand and mud all over his town-supplied shin guards & chest protector. His glove was no where to be found and his catchers mask was on sideways, blocking his view of the backstop. He walked full steam into the backstop but thanks to the wall of mud-covered protective gear he was wearing, he came away unscathed.
That, my friends, was a normal Saturday morning t-ball game.
Just so you know, it was this really excellent article that brought all those memories back to me.
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Here are some links you might like:
- And this is why I never drink coffee from teachers lounges.
- Apparently this kind of thing doesn't only happen in Florida.
- Will someone please just shoot these people.
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