Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Hat)

Coach, Shut Up and Let the Kids Play

By Bob Wire, 5-12-09

	"And goddammit it, tuck up those pajamas!"

Ah, spring is occasionally in the air, the power bills are starting to decrease, and it’s time for the kids’ sports to heat up. Good thing those power bills are dropping—I need the extra cash for balls and band-aids. And some duct tape for the coaches.

Speaker, age 10, is playing her fourth year of little league softball. She loves it, and thoroughly enjoys the practices and the games. Her only complaint is the same one voiced by virtually every kid who plays little league: “I hate playing right field. It’s boring!” I ask her if she’d rather play right field, or left out. This quasi-Zen question shuts her up pretty quickly.

At this age (all the girls on her team are either 10 or 11), the girls are a wide variety of shapes and sizes. Some are tiny, probably not tall enough to qualify for the pants-peeing rides at the carnival. Others are so tall and, uh, developed, that you wonder if they drove to the game after dropping off their kids at the sitter.

But, thankfully, they all seem to reside at the same marginal skill level. Because of this, their coaches feel obligated to shout a constant stream of instruction, reminders, and minute adjustments in the girls’ positions on the field during a game. “Speaker!” one coach will holler from the dugout to center field. “Move two steps to the left! No, YOUR left! Good!” Meanwhile, another coach is quizzing the infield: “Where’s the ball going, ladies?” They all point to first base, looking like Guantanamo inmates who’ve been tortured repeatedly with this question, yet have only the same answer to give.

It gets worse when they come up to bat. One coach is yelling at the batter from the dugout, another one is yelling at her from his position down the third base line. Dugout coach: “Get that back elbow up!” Third base coach: “Bend your knees!” Dugout: “Keep your eye on the ball!” 3B: “Level out that swing!” They yell at the poor girl to keep watching the pitcher, but her head’s on a swivel, trying to pay attention to the two chatterboxes. Meanwhile, the pitch goes by. Strike!

After four balls, the coach comes out and pitches to his own player. For this reason, the girls will rarely swing at balls thrown by the actual pitcher. Many are struck out looking. But when the coach comes up to the mound, he knows right where the batter likes the ball. He’ll try to place it there, meanwhile adding a third line of chatter for the batter to listen and nod to.

Why in the hell do the coaches even bother to have practice, if they’re going to micromanage the players during the games? Hey, coaches: You’re great people, the girls are lucky to have you. But when it’s game time, let the girls play. Provide encouragement and positive reinforcement. Save the constant, oppressive line of instruction for practice. Game time is for the girls, not for you. We parents and grandparents in the stands are always disgusted and frustrated that the coaches refuse to control their compulsion to give a nonstop, hollering commentary as the game drags on.

And the games do drag on. The pitcher will make her pitch, which goes over the catcher’s head while the catcher makes a weak pantomime at trying to catch the ball. Then she’ll shuffle around in her oversized protective gear until she finds the ball. Then she’ll throw it somewhere out to the infield, sometimes in the same zip code as the mound. The pitcher will miss it, and the shortstop and second baseman will spring into action, fighting for the overthrown ball, grateful for something to do. Then whoever picks it up will toss it to the pitcher, who will not catch it. Then the pitcher will pick up the ball and return to the mound. This catcher-to-pitcher exchange alone adds an hour to the game, and causes the outfielders to either pick dandelions, fall asleep, or perform an interpretive dance to the music in their heads.

The games only go five innings, or until 8:00, or until the team goes on a hunger strike. Spring weather in Montana being what it is, we’re all generally bundled up and miserable, fighting off arctic blasts and freezing rain, watching the ball avoid the pitcher’s mitt yet again. Finally, when the game is over, the coaches will gather the shivering, hungry, tired girls in the dugout for a 20-minute debriefing while the parents march around the parking lot, plotting coachicide.

Speaker’s team is improving as the season goes on, however, and the catcher-to-pitcher exchange is working more often than not. The girls are having fun, and we’re having fun watching them. If the weather doesn’t straighten out soon, though, I’m afraid Speaker’s batting average may drop when she starts wearing a parka during the games.

[Bookmark NewWest.net and check back frequently for more disgruntled humor. Thanks. Now beat it.]

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By Bob Wire, 5-12-09 | comments (16) | email story | print story