John Miller, player/coach of the Brussels Kangaroos and a reporter for a major American newspaper, is back chronicling his team’s 2009 season in his weekly column that will appear every Monday on mister-baseball.com.
This bright Sunday morning, I checked out our cadets (13-15 year-olds) taking on the Antwerp Eagles. It was classic kiddie baseball. Young teens strutted about, cloaked in attitude, white batting gloves and Oakleys. Coaches moved their defenses around. A volunteer umpire got most of the calls right.
And from all about, a few grown men ready to shout when things didn’t happen as they wished.
A trained eye could see the kids tense up with every comment.
It happens in almost every young ballplayer’s life. He plays well and is cheered. He fails in silence. The message sinks in. Please get hits and make us happy. You are not supposed to strike out.
You can see it in the pimp-it-up Little League World Series culture of screaming Earl Weaver dads who believe it’s their life mission to mould their 12-year-old boy into Albert Pujols.
Slowly, the player, whether he’s in Belgium or Pennsylvania, begins to make that link between athletic glory and celebration, homerun haloes and love, sordid strikeouts and rejection.
Usually, it happens in subtle increments. Do better next time. Hit a homerun, Johnny. You’re better than he is. As if it were a problem to not do better next time, to not hit a homerun or not be better than the kid 45 or 60 feet from you.
Sometimes, it’s just not subtle. Throw strikes! Focus damn it! Come on you’re better than that!
It doesn’t have to come from your dad or a coach. The general culture of adults watching a youth baseball game is plenty powerful. When I was 12, a friend’s dad would take me to McDonald’s after every game. The welcome was especially warm when I pitched complete game or had a couple hits.
When I coached my brother Moe’s team to youth World Series appearances in 2004 and 2006, I taught the ethic. Work hard! Get better!
Yes, the message was right. The delivery wasn’t. What I’ve learned since is that there’s a way of communicating that love and dedication and discipline without tension. Frustration and anger soak kids like pouring rain.
The truth is that the pressure is useless. A kid who loves the game and has talent will happily take a million groundballs – no pressure — and ask for more. He won’t care if he misses a few. He loves the game for its own sake. He’ll get better.
The coach does his job in hitting the extra Gs or chucking the extra BP to those who want them, not in forcing kids to expand their workload.
If your 12-year-old won’t take extra groundballs, then you’re not making it fun enough for him. (Thus the important of fostering backyard baseball, hours and hours of tension-free fun.)
Yes, the coach’s role is to organize practices and let kids who love the game get better, and to nudge the best toward perfection. The coach who does that — while gutting the culture that says you’re ok cuz you’re good — is the best kind of winner.
Who’s your daddy? Tell stories of stupid baseball adults at oldworldpastime@gmail.com