The iGeneration Will Never Know The Joy

November 28, 2012 by 3 Comments

Phone Rings.

“Hello?”

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“Ummmm…Sure, I guess.”

“You better go catch it.”

Click.

I feel bad for my kids and the entire iGeneration or @Generation or whatever you call the Generation that was born after Gen X and Gen Y.  My kids and their friends will never get to experience the thrill of the “Prank Call.”  Well, I guess they could, but wow, it’s going to be a lot more work for them.

Remember sitting at your house on a Saturday night when you were 23 years of age, er, 13 years of age, and blasting out calls to your friend’s land lines.  There was no Caller ID or Star 69 or definitely no SmartPhones.  It was the wild-wild-west of tele-communication.  You were really cool if you had your own line with your own number, different from your parents.  I was not cool.  Shocking!

School Phone Book in hand, you chose the number to a girl you liked.  Then, you and a buddy would call the number, and ask for Lisa.  Of course, it was 11pm, and Lisa’s Dad would answer.  Then, the following conversation would take place…

“Hello?  (in a deep, baritone voice)

“Ummm…may I (stammering) speak to Lisa please?”

“Who is this?  It’s 11 o’clock at night.”

“This is Zack Morris from Bayside High.  I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted to ask your daughter to the Teen Town Dance next Friday.”

“Listen Zack or whatever the hell your name is… Lisa is asleep (yeah right)… Do your parents know you’re calling this late (of course they do, they think it’s freakin’ hilarious)?  What are your parent’s names?”

“Myron and Mona Morris.”

“Myron and Mona Morris?”

“Yes sir… Everyone calls them M and M for short…you know, like the candy?”

“M and M?”

“Yes sir, because they’re both so sweet.”

“Oh, okay, Zack, whatever you say…Listen to me…Don’t call my house again…or…I’ll call your parents … or … call the cops and tell them I have Zack Morris from Bayside High calling my house… In fact, I’ve never heard of Bayside High… Where is that located?”

“Right at the corner of ‘You’re the man Drive and Time for me to Hang up Avenue.’ “

“Hey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Click.

Followed by 30minutes of uncontrolled laughter between the caller (you) and your pal.

Gosh, I miss those days.  The inventor of Caller ID, which started this whole mess, owes a big apology to the iGen…and to me too for that matter.

My kid’s only chance to experience this thrill is to call a Work Phone (not as fun) during their hours of operation (who prank calls during daylight … well, besides me), ask for the person that they’re trying to prank call (assuming that person is employed…I mean working that day), then proceed on to the prank call without getting that person in too much trouble.  A prank call is supposed to be harmless fun (unless the darn cat really is stuck in the tree).  Oh, and the @Gen will have to call from a line other than their own because of Caller ID and GPS and future technology which will have the “cops” staring at them before the call is over.

So, this message to iGen@Gen, enjoy your Smart Phone, your app that does your homework for you, that GPS that can pinpoint exactly where you mis-placed said homework, and whatever other technological gadget that will benefit you.  But, I say this, you are missing out!!!  There’s no greater thrill than making a grown man scream into his phone at midnight at a complete stranger who just happens to be less than half his age.  Long Live the Prank Call!!!

Sincerely,

Johnny Dakota

 

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Courage, Size 6: Lessons From the Sidelines

November 19, 2012 by Leave a Comment

It’s your first day at your new job.  Monday Morning, 8am.  You’re the “new guy/gal” on the team of ten.  The other 9 are huddled in the conference room yucking it up about the party they all attended this past weekend.  Not only are they all co-workers, they’ve been friends for the past few years.  Not only are they friends and co-workers, this is the best team in the company.  They have awards named after them.  Each one of them knows what the other person is going to do before they even do it.  It’s a very tight, successful, and FRIENDLY team, and you’re the newbie.  We’ve all been there, right?  High anxiety, very stressful, extremely uncomfortable, with the thought “What am I doing here?” running through your mind over and over.

Now, Imagine, it’s not you, but your 6-year old child.

Every parent reading this post would like to jump back to the first paragraph and say “I’m fine being here, as long as it’s not my little guy/girl. Bring on this dream team.”

I met a kiddo that taught me a lesson about “courage”.  Gabe had never played soccer prior to August 1st, 2012.  His Mom wanted Gabe to get involved in some outside activities, so she signed him up for 1st Grade Soccer at a local school.  Most of the kids went to school together, the core of which were entering their 5th season of playing on the same squad.  They all know each other.  They all like each other.  They all are good kids.  Oh, and by the way, it’s a very good team.  No need to emphasize their “record” but they have a few trophies already.  Tough situation to enter when you’re the new “kid.”  Tough situation when you’re the parent of the new kid.

Credit Gabe’s Mom for escorting him to every practice, every game, including a couple of school night tournament games in the next county (Not an ideal situation, as the Coach, I’ll take the blame for that week’s schedule).  Credit Gabe for a positive attitude, willingness to learn and ability to make friends.  Credit the group of first graders for welcoming Gabe and making him feel like a part of the team before a game had been played.

And, that’s another “teaching” point that kids teach us adults.

First practice, August 10th.  9000 degrees on the field.  Gabe is introduced to the team.  They all come up to him, give him a High 5 and they’re off like he’s been there for years.  After the practice, a couple of the players came up to me and said “Coach Jeff, Gabe is cool.  Glad he’s here.”  And that was that…  Gabe was no longer the new kid.  He was now Gabe, one of the ten players that made up the team.

This is not a story about a dramatic, life altering event or tragedy.  This is not a story that’ll make your local news or the Huffington Post (or maybe it could).  This is a story about a Mom who wanted something for her son, to make some new friends, and have some fun.  This is a story about a group of kids welcoming a new friend to their team.  This is a story that about courage, courage of a Mom for putting her little guy in a new situation.  This is a story about a little guy having the courage to go to that first practice, and the second, and third and so on.  This is a story about a group of 6-year olds teaching all of us something about being kind and accepting.  This is a story about everyday courage.  And, that’s something I could use … and maybe you too.

Sincerely,

Coach Jeff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The True Rules of Soccer (and Life)

November 12, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Rule Number One.  Have Fun.

The First Grade Boys Soccer Team at my son’s elementary school outside of St. Louis, MO has equaled the 1972 Miami Dolphin’s NFL Record perfect 17-0 season.  Nice accomplishment for this group of ten of which my son is a member and his Dad is the coach.

I know these boys are only 6 and 7 years old.  And, believe me, I’m not the coach who dwells on the wins and losses of a first grade soccer team.  Cares.   Yes.  Obsesses.  No.  But, it really was a nice little season.  Here’s what is much nicer than reading the standings on the league website.  This group of little Landon Donovan’s really play together nicely while following my 6 “Golden Goal” Rules which they begin every practice and every game reciting out loud together in unison.

To repeat the first again… because along with Rule Number 6, it is the most important…and it rhymes.  Go ahead and say it out loud.  It has a nice “championship” ring to it.

Rule Number One:  Have Fun. (I, also, use this to get their attention.  Reminder:  They’re 6 and 7 year old boys.  Attention span is sometimes not their best quality.  Mine neither.)

Rule Number Two:  No Hands.  (The sport is soccer after all)

Rule Number Three:  Eye on the ball.  (Both literal and figurative teaching moment with this one)

Rule Number Four:  Follow your pass.  Follow your shot.  (Life Lesson…don’t ever give up)

Rule Number Five:  Open Space.  (Another Life Lesson…Give your co-worker, ahem, teammate some room to work while giving him an outlet for help if/when it’s needed.  This crew does not play “beehive” soccer where everyone runs to the ball.  Nope.  Positional play is enforced and they’re starting to get it.  Everyone has a job to do.  It’s a team sport.)

Rule Number Six:  Be Happy.  (This one is my favorite.  This is 1st grade soccer for goodness sakes.  Just a bunch of friends playing together, outside, in the fresh air, with their proud parents watching/rooting while snacks await on the sideline as the post-game reward.  If a kiddo can’t be happy in this atmosphere, then I’m doing something wrong.  That’s on me.)

Every Thursday evening to begin our weekly practice.  Every Saturday prior to the start of the game.  Same 6 Rules recited.  Over.  And Over.  And Over.  Repetition is imperative in coaching youth athletics, heck, in achieving any level of expertise at anything.  These kids not only can recite these 6 rules.  They follow these 6 rules in their play.  Perfect?  No.  Not even close.  Just like their coach.  We all have our moments.  But, the effort is always there.  The parental support is always there.  And, they always follow Rule Number One.  Have fun.  Like their statistical record, that’s perfect.  And, that allows me, with a smile that stretches from sideline to sideline, to check the box on …

Rule Number Six. “Be Happy.”   

Sincerely… A Happy Coach Jeff

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Gym Characters – The People You Know and Love

November 7, 2012 by 1 Comment

It’s time to meet the “GYM” characters at your local Fitness Facility.  Every local “GYM” has a few of these celebrities.  Read below.  Count them up and let me know how many you have at your local workout spot.  I’ve placed myself in this group.  Full Disclosure.  I’m 5-11, 170 pounds dripping wet.  My arms are as big as the handle of your bathroom plunger, and the only spot I’ve ever received is the one on my shirt after spilling OJ.

“The Mayor”  – This is the guy that somehow knows every single soul in the gym.  The 85-year old man on the treadmill.  Check.  The Mayor knows his Grandkids.  The 16-year old football player.  Check.  The Mayor knows his dad.  The 21-year old Collegiate Volleyball player.  Check.  The Mayor knows her uncle.  The 36-year old Spinning Instructor.  Check.  The Mayor saw her at the Grocery Store.  The Mayor spends at least 3 hours at the gym per visit.  Then the other day out of nowhere he passes me, says “What’s up Jeff,” and keeps on walking.  I’m honored.

“The Chiropractor” – The following conversation actually took place between this superstar and me.  “Excuse me sir.”  I, of course, ignore this statement because I’m in the middle of a set with sweat pouring down my forehead.  “Ummm…Excuse me sir, your form is wrong.  You need to keep your back straight, head up, and eyes forward.”  “Are you talking to me?” I respond.  “You do realize that I’m not in the military.  I’m not even close to being that tough…or cool…”  “Well, I’m going back to school to be a chiropractor and I’m just looking out for your back.”  “I appreciate the advice.  Thank you.”  I reply politely.  Next set.  I continue doing what I’m doing.  “Ummmm, sir (yes I’m in the middle of the set again), you need to stop doing that.  You’re doing it wrong.”  “Okay, so here’s the thing Dr Spine.  I respect your education and knowledge, but I have no weight on this bar, I’m stretching.  My back is not going to be damaged.  I just ran 5 miles, and am stretching.  That’s it.  Also, I have headphones on, and cannot hear you when you’re talking to me.  (He doesn’t need to know that the battery on my iPod is dead and I can hear every word he’s spewing).  So, with all due respect, can you leave me alone?  My back will be just fine.  Thank you.”  I say in a soft, kind tone.  “Fine, go ahead and do permanent damage to your spine, but don’t call me when you need an adjustment.”  I’m on the other side of the gym at this point.  The Chiropractor is making some sort of mark in his note pad.  My guess the note says something like “Skinny, sweaty guy in the Cardinal Baseball T-shirt is a jerk.”  Perfect.  I just ruined things for half the guys in here.  They all owe me one.

“The Teacher” – This is the guy that lathers chalk all over his hands prior to picking up a barbell or dumbbell.  Some say the chalk helps one grip the bar or dumbbell due to drying out the perspiration on one’s hands.  I say “grab a towel” or wear some gloves.  There’s chalk everywhere.  Remember when you were in 5th grade, went to the front of the class to participate in a Speed Math game, then had chalk all over you until you could find a sink prior to lunch.  Same thing here.  “The Teacher” goes to his bag of chalk which he most likely purchased at I-am-the-man-dot-com slams his hands together like Lebron James prior to an NBA game, grabs the bar, does his thing, then leaves.  Now, the rest of us are left with a chalkboard for a bar.  I guess my classroom chore is to clean the boards this week.  Thank you Teacher.

“The Match” – Either gender applies here.  This is the person that somehow matches everything he/she wears to the gym.  Typical gym attire is Red Shoes, Royal Blue Socks, Red Shorts with a Royal Blue Nike Swoosh, a Red and Royal Blue checkered, sleeveless (of course) “muscle” shirt that reads “Pain is Temporary, Muscles are Forever” on the front with Royal blue wrist bands and a Red headband.  It’s phenomenal.  Every piece of clothing this person wears to the gym matches.  What’s even more amazing… Same clothing list the next day, just switch the color combo to Green and Yellow. I want to see this person at some other locale (grocery store, the mall, a restaurant, anywhere) just to see if he/she matches all day, everyday.  It’s a talent.  Good for him/her.

“The Cop” – True story here too.  One morning (I go to the gym at 5am), I’m at the far corner of they gym doing squats on a Smith Machine (not my personal machine in case you were wondering, but it’s actually named for one of my many cousins who invented the machine…my best guess).  I’m a good 150 feet from the nearest person.  Nobody even close to me.  I do squats with my shoes off for balance reasoning.  One of the workers at the gym actually clued me in on this once a long time ago.  Again, middle of the set, a 70ish year old man walks over to me and says “You need to put your shoes on.”  I, of course, have headphones on…and yes, the battery life has ended.  It ended days ago, but I wear them anyway to avoid this type of conversation.  “You need to put your shoes on!  Now!”  I conclude my set.  He’s now 3 feet from me.  “Excuse me, I couldn’t hear you.  As you can see, I have head phones on, and was in the middle of something over here in the corner by myself.”  “You need to put your shoes on…It’s a rule…You’re violating a rule.”  “I’m sorry” I reply “I don’t see a YMCA shirt on you.  Do you work here?  Or maybe are you related to the “MCA’s”?  If not, “Y” do you care Mister MCA?”  “Because it’s a rule, and you’re not following it.  It’s a safety issue.”  “Do you know what’s unsafe?”  I calmly explain, “Interrupting someone in the middle of the set while they have a couple of hundred pounds on his neck while in a deep knee bend, then yelling at them loud enough to startle that person.  I’d also like to point you to the rule on this board that says “Be courteous to your fellow members.”  So, until you can either prove to me that you work here or somehow you’re blood related to the YMCA family, I’d like for you to leave me alone.  You can go back to doing what you were doing on the other side of the gym, where I’m not located or you can stand right there and watch me work out.  Your call.”  And the headphones go back in my ears when “the cop” says “I cannot believe this generation.”  I’m 37 years old.  Sorry to all of you between the ages of say 30 and 45.   I just ruined your reputation with “The Cop.”

I’m going to stop for now, but there are more …

Oh by the way, I’m “Morning Hair Guy” … or “Bed Head Ted.”  The first time that I look in any mirror is when I’m pulling the 5 pound weights off the rack to bench press.  Then, I look up, and holy Pillow had a Party, my hair looks like a tangled mess of disaster.  Here’s the thing.  I.  Don’t. Care.  And, that’s the last time I look in a mirror until the next morning…when I meet “Blue Tooth” … and more Gym Characters.  Foreshadowing… Who talks on the phone while in the middle of a set?  And who in the world is the guy talking to at 5am?  More on Blue Tooth in the next post.

To Be Continued …

 

 

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The Road To U.S. Citizenship: An American Perspective

October 8, 2012 by 4 Comments

The Taxi Driver from Yemen.  A Teacher from Congo.  A Marketing Consultant from Ecuador.   The Radiology Technologist from Vietnam.  There were 51 new American Citizens representing 25 countries and 5 continents including these 4 along with the Speaker/Author from Canada.  That last one is my wife.

Yemen is the poorest county in the Arab World. 5.4 Million have been killed since 1998 in the Second Congo War.  Ecuador is constantly tied into the Drug Trafficking that runs rampant with its neighbor to the North, Columbia.  And, then there’s Vietnam, where the Media (including the internet with a “Bamboo Firewall”) are still controlled by the Communist Government 37 years after the War ended.

As I sat in a United States Federal Court room decorated with official looking Mahogany Desks and Granite Columns, splashed with Red, White and Blue, I looked into their tear-filled eyes and tried to imagine what our new American brethren must have been through to get to this point.  Well, now, they made it.  They are all citizens of the United States of America.

As mentioned above, this group of 50 Stars, plus one bright shining star in my sky, included a 39-year old extraordinary mommy of 2 and business owner, also known as my wife, Danielle Smith.   “D” sat on the other side of the line of scrimmage which was that partition in a courtroom separating those that are involved in the court proceedings and those that are present just to observe (in this case, document with our iPhones).   So, I turned my igadget in her direction as she stood up and proudly recited the oath with the others in the room.  Recording this event will allow us to watch it and re-watch it, but for me, it was a time for reflection on how lucky I am to live in the “free-est” country on earth.

As I’ve told my two children over and over and over, we can be anything we want to be.  Anything!!!  It really is amazing.  We receive a free education until we’re 18years of age, and at that point, there are many ways to receive a college education deferring payment until after a degree and hopefully that first job are secure.  Easy, no.  Possible, yes.  I’m confident that the 40-year old Mother of two would have taken that when she was growing up in the Human Rights Violating Country of Nigeria.

We, also, live in a country where we all get a say in who leads our country.  Well, all of us, that are 18 years of age … and registered to vote.  Yet, the percentage of registered voters hovers between 60-70% depending on which statistic you believe.  Let’s say that it’s 75% which is on the high side.  Where are the other 25%?  I’m not trying to turn this into a political speech.  I’m just thinking about this statistic after watching two of our newly sworn in citizens pay the money, study and pass the test, and do all that was necessary to become American citizens after spending all of their lives in Communist China where they don’t get a say in much of anything.

As I glanced around the room, my eyes kept coming back to the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, my wife.  She, too, was crying.  Why?  Danielle was born in Canada and migrated to this country at the age of five when her Dad took a new job in Florida.  Why would she be so emotional?  She’s had a Social Security number for 34 years now, and has been a taxpayer since she turned 18 years of age.  She answered the question this way “Look around Jeff.  The people in this room are so excited to live here now.  I’ve lived here almost my entire life, but have always kind of felt like an outsider.  I’ve always been intrigued by this country’s political process and been involved, of course, as a news reporter, but never been able to express my own opinion in the form of casting a ballot.  I’m not sure everyone understands what it’s like to NOT have your opinion matter, not officially anyway.  Well, now it does matter, for me, and that woman from Congo, and that man over there from Bosnia, and those folks from Pakistan, Iraq, and Somalia.  This is the only country in the world where all of us can come together and be completely equal and relevant.  Is this country perfect?  No, not by a long shot, but it’s pretty darn good.  And all of us are lucky to call it home.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.  Her first stop after the swearing-in ceremony:  the League of Women Voters.  She’s all set now to vote in her first election.  My wife is pretty amazing isn’t she?  And so is the ole U-S-A.

This is Danielle’s experience in her words (including video….have a tissue nearby, as she is a bit emotional.)

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For the Love of the Game: A Broken Foot Can’t Sideline This Six Year Old

September 10, 2012 by 3 Comments

“Kindergartner plays on Broken Foot in Soccer League Championship”

What?  I can’t believe a parent would allow a 6-year old boy to do this.  Gosh, parents these days, it’s all about winning.  Incredible.  When is this going to stop?  These parents just don’t get it.  It’s this sort of “win at all cost” attitude that is damaging our children.

Did a part of you start to judge the parents of this kiddo?

Leave the gavel and smock at home.  Here’s the whole story Your Honor.

Derrick Pryor plays on my son’s soccer team.  Derrick Pryor has no stop button.  He doesn’t even have a pause button.  Trust me, I know this.  I coach this soccer team (and the boy’s baseball team), and Derrick Pryor is the kid that you’re going to be watching on ESPN’s College Football Game Day Special one Saturday morning in the year 2026 playing the other football.

Derrick loves to play sports, any sport, soccer, baseball, football, wrestling, he’ll race you right now, right here if you’re ready…and…he’ll win.  He can fly.  When I watch a football game and I wonder how in the world these football players all run a “4.4, 40yard dash,” I now know how they started.  They all began like Derrick Pryor, but I’m thinking not everyone has a Monday like the one Derrick experienced a few months ago.

I’ve wanted to write about this for some time now, but needed to get his parent’s okay.  Permission granted.

Derrick’s Monday started like any other kid’s.  He went to school, learned some math, spelling and reading, then out to the playground for recess.  He’s playing tag with a few of his friends when he twists his ankle, badly, and goes down to the ground.  Teacher checks on him, accompanies him to the nurse, who puts him through the line of tests and questions and thinks he’s okay because, well, Derrick told the nurse he was okay, and passed every test. The Nurse, though, puts a note in Derrick’s book bag to give to his Dad, so that his Dad is aware Derrick got hurt at recess.  Derrick completes his day bouncing around the school like he’s hopped up on Pixy Stix.  Kid is full of energy.  What kid isn’t!?!

He goes home.  Dad helps him with his homework.  Derrick eats his dinner, dresses in his soccer uniform, and is ready to play.  See, tonight is the night that his team, the Crusaders, can clinch the U6 League Title.  Big Game.  Huge Game.  Monster Game.  I’m kidding, of course.  Well, you know, it is a big game to these kids.  They know that if they win, they get a league trophy, and well, trophies are cool when you’re six.  Good for them for caring.

Derrick, also, knows that if he shows his dad the note from the Nurse that his Dad won’t let him play.  There are parents out there with perspective, contrary to what many folks think.  Most parents do get it.  I’m a parent, and I side with parents (most of the time…I acknowledge there are some that are Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs).  So, Derrick bounces into the car, and off to the game they go.

Derrick does his normal thing, out runs every kid on the field, plays a phenomenal first half, then his Dad comes over to the bench.  “Jeff, does Derrick look like he’s limping to you?”  I really couldn’t tell.  The kid is so darn quick.  He moves too fast for me to see him.  He’s like a pinball bouncing all over the field.  But, hey, parents know their kids, so I pull D-Man off the field.  “Derrick, are you okay, does your foot hurt?”  “Nope, Can I go back in now?” responds the future Running Back for the University of Alabama (Dad is a big Tide fan).  I look at his Pop, “He’s your kiddo, you tell me, I’ll keep him out obviously, no biggie.”  His Dad looks at his little guy who stares back at him with that “Come on Dad, let me play look.”  The look that most future All-Americans give as if to say “don’t even think about it Dad.”  Dad shrugs the shoulders and tells him to be careful, but okay.

Well, Derrick, of course proceeds to net a couple of goals, the Crusaders win and the kids are proud of their accomplishment.  Pryor (I feel like I should call him by his last name since that’s the way writers refer to professional athletes) admits to his Dad later that night that his foot is hurting him.  It’s hurting so much that he has trouble sleeping, so Dad takes him to see the doctor the next morning, which sends for an X-Ray, and well, crack, it’s broken.  Derrick is now in a walking boot for the next 3-4 weeks.  His Dad asks him why he didn’t tell him it was hurting the day before.  The Kindergartner responds with “Dad, if I would have told you I was hurt, you wouldn’t have let me play soccer, right?”  His dad nods in agreement.  “Well, I had to play, the team needed me,” says the future captain of some professional sports team.

So, note to the Coach of the University of Alabama Football Team Nick Saban, we have a recruit for you up here in St Louis.  Name is Derrick Pryor.  He’ll be playing Running Back or Defensive Back for you in about 13 years.  And, note to parents, don’t judge each other every time you see a Media headline that implores you to judge.  Read the story first.  Make your own opinion.  Court is adjourned.

Sincerely,

Fan of Derrick Pryor

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A Coaching Philosophy To Live By

September 3, 2012 by Leave a Comment

I’m a coach.  I love it.  It’s my passion.  Here’s why I do it.

I could give a list of items that I stress to kids, but that’s (yawn) as painful as watching a walk-a-thon at the nearby Little League Diamond.

So, let me take you to the bottom of the 7th inning of a Junior Varsity Baseball Game that I was coaching when I was first out of college.  I’m 22 years old and I’m coaching 15/16 year old boys.  That was 15 years ago.  Now these kids could be my co-workers, but at that point of time, they looked to me to lead them to victory (or something like that).

My greatest point of emphasis to this group, throughout tryouts and every day at practice or at a game, was that nobody was checking the paper to see their win/lose result the night prior.  That was for the Varsity Team.  Those guys were the ones that could win a state title.  Not us.  We were here to play the game the correct way, learn how to win and lose with class, and get better as a whole so that next year, the Varsity Coach had some confidence that his team could compete for a State Title.  That was my goal, for these kids to be good next year or the year after, not necessarily this year when I was the Head Coach.  Let’s be clear, I like to win, who doesn’t, but that’s not my purpose here.  I’m the JV coach, and understanding one’s role is very important in the world of sports (as with any role in the real world).

So, let’s get back to the bottom of the 7th, we’re down 4-3 with bases loaded and 2 outs.  Our “9” hitter coming to the plate.  Here’s what’s running through my head.  One, this kid will most likely not make next year’s Varsity Team, so I could pinch hit for him with a kid that would be more likely than “Billy” to come up in a similar situation again or let Billy hit for himself because well, it’s his first start of the season on this, the 8th game of a 20 game season due to the fact that he was the last kid to start for us.  Again, this is JV and if a kid made the team then the kid deserves a crack at it eventually.  Billy was the 13th player talent wise on a roster of 13.

So, Billy shuffles to home plate, and I call “time.”  I’m going to pinch hit.  Then, finally, I started thinking with my brain instead of my pathetic ego that almost took over.

Ego:  “Come on Jeff, pinch hit Ryan for him, Ryan can rake and the only reason he isn’t starting is because he was 5 minutes late to practice yesterday.  What’s 5 minutes?”

Brain:  “Seriously Jeff, who gives a darn if you win or lose this game?   You think the Cardinals scouts are in the stands watching your coaching moves at work?”

Ego:  “It’s possible.”

Brain:  “Pipe down Ego.  You just get in the way.  Listen up Skipper, this will be the last time that Billy ever comes up again in this situation in his life.  He makes an out, okay, whatever, so your team loses the game and that’s life.  But, if he gets a hit, he’ll remember that for the rest of his life.  PS…so will you.

Ego: “We need a W”

Brain:  “Ego’s right.  You need a W.  Let Billy hit, and you’ll get one.  The baseball gods are always watching.  Now, get back in the 3rd base coach’s box and tell Billy to relax and just hit the ball.”

So, I’m sure you all know what I did at this point.  And, of course, Billy gets a hit to right center, two runs score, we win the game 5-4 and Billy is carried off the field.  Add to all of that, the conversation that Billy initiated with me after the game is the one that I’ll never forget.

Billy:  “Coach, I really thought you were going to pinch hit for me.  I wouldn’t have blamed you if you would.  But, I thank you for giving me a chance.  I probably won’t make the team next year, and that’s okay, because that was the most fun I’ve ever had on a baseball field, and I’ve been playing since I was in Kindergarten.  I’ll never forget that game.  So, thank you.”

I just nodded and he sprinted to the group of kids hanging around his car in the parking lot.  Then, I looked to the sky.  The baseball gods are always watching.

So, now, here I am, a 37-year old Dad with two kids of my own who play baseball/softball, soccer and basketball.  I coach them all, thus gave up the high school coaching about 5 years ago once my oldest was ready to start playing.  Parents ask me all of the time, “So, what’s your coaching philosophy?”  My response is simple.  Do the best that I can to give a positive memory to each and every kid on the field, regardless of age, skill level and/or situation.  Experience as many “Billy Moments” as possible.

Hey Billy, I never forgot that game either.

Sincerely,

Coach Jeff

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