‘Aren’t you cold?” asked a parent, who was shivering in a thick winter jacket outside the fence next to the third-base dugout.
Dressed in a pair of coaching shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and sneakers, I should have been shivering, too. Although it had been sunny and warm when I arrived at Mullins Park at 8:30 Saturday morning, in the seven hours since, the temperature had been dropping as if it had fallen through a trapdoor in the Arctic.
The wind was blowing so hard that a section of the park had been closed by Coral Springs city officials out of concern that one of the tall pines might blow over on someone. On TV, they were calling this weather system “The Storm of the Century.”
But I wasn’t watching TV. I was managing my Senior League baseball team. I was focused, into the game, our second of the season. We were winning, 12-4, in the fourth inning and I was not feeling anything but good.
“You must be nuts!” said another parent.
Of course I am. You have to be a little nuts to coach Little League baseball. And I’ve been doing it for six years, working my way up from Farm League to Little League to Senior League as my son Matt grew up.
What had started out innocently enough in 1987 with an offer to help Matt’s first coach somehow had taken over my life. I went from helper to official coach to manager of my own team, to member of the Coral Springs American Little League Board of Directors. Although opening day was less than two weeks ago, this season began for board members in August, when we had our first meeting.
We had to set registration dates and tryout dates for more than 1,000 kids. We had to select managers and coaches for more than 75 teams, then order uniforms, baseballs and other equipment. After that came the drafting of teams and trying to schedule more than 75 games a week in a park with four regulation fields and four makeshift fields.
It’s like running a medium-sized corporation, but without the perks.
Now that the season finally has started, I am at the park most weeknights from 5 or 6 until after 10, and all day Saturday. Sunday, too, if there are rain-outs during the week.
There are decisions to be made, arguments to be settled, egos to massage, wrongs to be righted. Of course, no matter how long you stay or how fair and reasonable you try to be, there will be people angry at you, particularly if you’re on the board. It goes with the territory.
Who but a nut would volunteer for such a job?
Even when my involvement was limited to coaching, there were headaches. There was the mom who insisted her child was a catcher, overlooking the small detail that he couldn’t catch the ball. And the mom who wept when her son was benched for two innings because he was late for the game. There have been scores of bleacher coaches who “don’t have the time” to become a coach or manager but love to criticize those of us who make the time.
There has been no shortage of parents, coaches, managers and umpires who forget that the whole idea of a league is to develop children, not only as good sports and good players but also as good people. Sadly, the competition often overshadows those ideals for too many.
So there have been arguments and a lot of childishness, most of it displayed by adults. I have been accused of cheating and of being prejudiced against children of various races, religions and ethnic groups.
When they don’t get their way, some parents can be vicious.
So why am I standing in the third-base coach’s box on a cold and blustery Saturday afternoon, grinning like an idiot when I should be freezing my rump off? Because I am nuts — about the game and the kids who play it. Because I’m having fun. Because I love it.
When I get momentarily discouraged over one or more of the problems mentioned above, I think about all the things that made me love being involved in Little League.
Like the day during my first year when I spent 10 minutes describing how outfielders should back up plays in the infield, during which all the 8- and 9-year-olds listened intently. When I asked if there were any questions, one kid raised his hand and asked, “Can somebody cut their hair with a chain saw?”
I think about the moments of triumph — not games or championships won, but those times when a player short on talent made an outstanding catch or got a game-winning hit and went home beaming, basking in glory. I think about the camaraderie of teams I’ve coached, all the friends I’ve made and all the children I’ve watched grow from childhood into early adulthood.
One of my assistant coaches this year, for example, is Gregg Halkuff, 17, the best second baseman who ever played for me. Jason Maurer, another former player, offered to help, too. Such a tradition appeals to me.
My other volunteer assistant is Pete Hanson, whose company, Comet Fence, is our sponsor. Several other fathers helped unofficially or offered to pitch in.
So, no, I didn’t feel the cold on Saturday afternoon. That’s because it was another new season and another new team, both full of promise. It’s a good team, too. Not just good players but also good kids. Five of them — Carlos Lebron, Adam Halkuff, Rob Tracey, Chris Colavito and my son — played for me last year.
Others, such as Guy Vignola, Sam Berns, Peter Hanson, Jason Haffner and Mike Dalo, are kids I’ve known for a few years. The rest, Kevin Lowndes, Bobby Fedderwitz, Mitch Sinberg and Jason Browne, are boys I didn’t know but drafted on hunches and hopes that have turned out to be sound.
They get along. There are no prima donnas, no attitude problems and no disgruntled parents. So far.
Of course, so far we have played two games and won both. Everyone is naturally more upbeat when the team is winning. That’s human nature. But if our fortunes change and problems pop up, I’ll deal with them. Why look for trouble when everything is going so splendidly?
We had won our first game, 12-6, three days before this Saturday game. Better yet, my son had been one of the stars of the game. Although Matt always has been a good, steady player, he has never been a star. On that day, however, he hit a single his first time up and blasted one to the warning track in left field for a stand-up double his second time up. He had driven in four runs, scored two and made an outstanding catch in left field.
Haffner also had a great game that day, going 3 for 3 at the plate. Lebron started a double play with a great catch in center field to end the game, and Vignola pitched four good innings.
In this, our second game (which we finally won, 15-4, in gale-force winds), Berns gave us four solid innings on the mound and Vignola hit three doubles and drove in six runs. Fedderwitz had a great catch, Colavito had three hits, and Hanson, our catcher, picked off two runners at first and had a couple of big hits.
Although as a manager I try to remember and applaud all such individual efforts, I strongly believe that no one player ever wins — or loses — a game. It is a team sport. The kid who makes an error today might make the winning play tomorrow and vice-versa. Unless someone is perfect, I won’t allow him to criticize a teammate. And nobody’s perfect. Everybody strikes out, everbody makes an error.
As the season goes on, we’ll win and lose our share of games. As time goes by, the actual numbers will seem less and less important.
But if we stick together and support one another, we’ll have a lot of fun while making new friends and fond memories that will last years. Hopefully, we’ll all learn from one another, too. If we do, that warm feeling will linger no matter what the weather.
That doesn’t mean I think winning is unimportant. I always play to win. But there is a difference between playing to win and winning at any cost. Fairness is more important than winning. So are sportsmanship and people’s feelings, particularly when those people are children and teen-agers.
But I believe winning is a product of that formula. I coach on the theory that if a manager minimizes criticism, maximizes praise and treats players with fairness and respect, they tend to play better, with more confidence and more success.
And it has worked. So far.
I’ll be back around mid-season to let you know how it’s going.
