You
need to know I don’t coach baseball because I’m trying to relive my youth. I
had my time, and I was blessed to play on a little field of dreams. But those
days, which were longer ago than I care to admit, inform how and why I coach,
because the truth is, it’s about the kids, not you or me. I’m just doing what I
can to help them develop a love of this beautiful game and build a few fond
childhood memories similar to the ones I have.
What I remember isn’t the wins or the losses, or how I stacked up on the stats sheet against other 10-year-olds. What has stuck with me is the friends I made, the smell and look of the grass in the golden twilight of another warm summer night and running to the concession stand afterward to buy Bottle Caps or O-Pee Chee baseball cards that came with a stick of gum hard enough to cut glass and was guaranteed to lose its flavour before my dad pulled out of the parking lot.
You also need to know I don’t coach baseball because I’m trying to prove how smart I am or that I can build champions. Frankly, I’m not that good of a coach. But that’s not the point. Show me a team of 12-year-old champions that think they’re pretty special and I’ll show you another group of 12-year-olds not far down the road that are even better. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t all dream big and work like crazy to try to capture that dream. It’s just that in order for us to have a healthy relationship, I’m going to be honest with you and I hope you will be honest with yourself. The odds of any of them playing in the big leagues — including your son or daughter and mine — are so infinitesimal that it’s not productive to focus on that now. Take that up with another coach when your kids are a little older if they start shredding baseballs with every swing or can strike out batters at will. I’m not your guy.
I first volunteered to coach and be a local convenor — and please remember the key word here is “volunteered” — because I didn’t like what I was seeing and hearing, particularly at the house league level. My call to action initially had more to do with coaches too busy, too apathetic or too disorganized to engage the kids properly. Before long I set my sights on those parents and other coaches who live vicariously through these young players. You know the type: people who take the game and themselves far too seriously, get upset too easily and suck every ounce of fun out of it in some strange quest to win games few people are going to remember winning in the years ahead.
I’m trying to put the fun back into the game for the best reason of all — the hope every child will want to play baseball again next year and, in some form, throughout their adult lives. Trust me, before the age of 14 or 15 it’s the experience that matters more to these young people than the results. So, my teams will practice a lot and work on fundamentals and approach everything between the lines with the level of seriousness required to learn and grow and stay as safe as possible. We will also have fun — and yes, sometimes, water balloons and wiffle ball games will be involved.
Not surprisingly, it’s common for more competitive coaches to dismiss my approach as if I am an overgrown camp councilor disinterested in winning or teaching young men and women the game. They’re wrong, of course. I love to win, I’m as competitive as anyone and I always try to win, within reason. I just don’t believe what too many have propagated for too long — that winning is always fun and therefore worth pursuing at the expense of all else. There’s a bit of house league / competitive divide on this point, but I believe it’s still valid across the board. Besides, I’m a house league guy at heart precisely for this reason. The number one reason kids quit the game is because they stopped having fun, which usually means they didn’t get a reasonable amount of playing time or the coach was too competitive.
I think long term about coaching. So, apart from doing my best to preach fundamentals, make sure playing time is fair for all and inject fun into the equation, equally important will be instilling character and perspective. That means my players will conduct themselves with class — win or lose — or they won’t play. Specifically, that means players will support their teammates, regardless of ability, will dress appropriately at all times, will never taunt opposing players in any way, including group cheers and chants (is there anything more annoying than when an opposing team drives in a run and then their bench explodes with that “RB… RB… RB… RBI!” chant?) and my players will never, ever, question an umpire, let alone look at them strangely. We’re all going to have to accept the umpires are as inexperienced as the players and, often, just as young. There are going to be some horrendous calls. It’s hardly life or death.
Parents play a huge role in all this. I ask that they are supportive, that they help get players to practices, games and team events on time whenever possible (or communicate when that isn’t possible) and then they let the coaches coach, the players play and the umpires call the games without question. Cheering is fantastic, but shouting instructions from the stands sends mixed messages to players. If you want to help your child be a better player, the best thing you can do is find time to play catch in the backyard and run through some basic fielding, throwing, catching and hitting fundamentals, because success is built on practice and routine. If you do that, their skills will improve and the wins will likely follow. But, trust me, that won’t matter as much as the lasting childhood memories we will build together.