This spring I have the great privilege, perhaps for the last time, to help coach my son’s baseball team. But unlike other years, this time I will not bear the responsibility of being called the head coach; I’ve been the head coach before and it’s a commitment I no longer want to make. So I’ve hitched my wagon to another team, letting my friend do all the hard work.
See, I’m in the Don Zimmer stage of my illustrious career, simply looking for ways to stick around the ballpark without having to deal with any real responsibility. So while my buddy gets to deal with the parents who can’t understand why their kid isn’t playing every inning, even though we have 15 players for only 9 positions, and their kid is batting 0-22, I’ll be hanging out at third base, watching the game up close, and telling the kids to “run!” Run like you’re being chased by a pack of wolves boys! I’m going to be the greatest 3B coach of all time.
To achieve such a lofty goal, I’m going to keep it quite simple this year. When you’re dealing with a platoon of eleven and twelve-year-old lunatics, there’s not a lot of time for nuanced discussion about the greatest game ever invented. So we’re going to focus on running. Running like your hair is on fire. Running like there’s no tomorrow. Running like the other team is trying to take everything you’ve ever loved. Like your Xbox. We’re going to run the wackiness right out of these boys and in the end, we’re going to score more runs than any youth team in the history of New Hampshire. By golly, songs will be sung about us.
Now the key to implementing an efficient running attack in the game of baseball is developing your steal signs. Some of our more experienced players want us to incorporate a complicated matrix of bunt signs, the steal sign, and indicator signs for when the steal sign is actually “on.” This array of hand signals is meant to give the opposition a tough time trying to figure out what we’re doing. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on most of our team.
So far I’ve given the kids one steal sign, just one — touching the brim of my hat — and most of the time they don’t even see it. Or worse, some of them see the sign, nod at me like they understand, and then not move a muscle when the pitch is thrown. When by some miracle they finally do make their way over to third base, I ask them what they were nodding at and they tell me they have absolutely no idea. The new plan for these players is to just point to the base I want them to go to and yell “run!”
But even though we’re still working out the kinks, things are coming along. In our last game we stole 31 bases, only half of which I gave the sign for, and the game was called early because we were scoring too many runs. I have no idea what the hell happened. Even the kids who still go to left field when we tell them to go to right, were stealing home base like they were raiding a box of fruit snacks. They were running like a team possessed. Maybe the boys really took those visualization tactics to heart. Maybe?
Whatever happened, it’s really given me some major things to consider. Should I run with this Xbox theme and make some sort of “X” hand signal the new steal sign? Could I add that as the indicator sign? Or should I just come up with some more visual approaches, like telling them they’re being chased by a bunch of angry geese? Or some lions with rabies? I’ve got to keep those fires burning. Man, there is so much to mull over for this Saturday. Greatness sure doesn’t come easy.
P.S. I put Little League in the title even though technically my son’s team is in the Cal Ripken League. Outside of a handful of dedicated dads, nobody even knows that there is a second league called Cal Ripken League, nor do they give a damn. If you have a problem with my misappropriation of terms, I have a good idea who you are, and I hope to see you on the field. My boys are ready to run all over you.
Absolutely Hilarious! I love it