Coach Class
Last night was a baseball game night. I want to start by saying that my sons have had the good fortune of having some great coaches. People that love the game, the kids, and volunteer from the heart. I have always been thankful for these people who have been part of the village that has helped us raise them. We all know there's those "other" coaches out there, though. Yesterday, we ran into one. I want to be fair and submit the following disclaimer: I know nothing about this man, his life, or any coaching techniques aside from what I witnessed last night. That being said, he really didn't shine too brightly during that time.
My children will be the first to tell you that it is exceedingly difficult for me to watch a professional game quietly. Thankfully, most of these are seen from the relative obscurity of my livingroom. That does not dissuade me in the least from coaching loudly and occasionally inappropriately. (It took Wolf almost an entire football season to stop being on high alert as I screamed at the TV). I don't yell out specific plays that should have been run, players that should have been fouled, or anything that even remotely suggests that I have more experience/better insight than their current coaches. Rather, it's more of a "Run the damn ball" followed by a lengthy string of expletives. When I am lucky enough to be at games, I try to tone down the more colorful portion of my coaching for the sake of the people sitting next to me. But I still share my views of each play. These are grown ass men who make more money playing that one game than I will make in a year. They can handle it. If not, they can wrap themselves up in their chauffeured cars and cry about it all the way home to their mansions. That is not the case when children are involved.
Our boys were late to the baseball playing experience. They both missed T ball and I would be a bigger liar than any politician if I said I'm sorry to have missed that painful experience. We still had our fair share of the learning years, however. If you've ever watched small kids play, you know that their "at bat" lasts until they hit, or an hour has passed. The coaches during these years have to have the patience of a saint. I used to love when the kids would ask me who won. (Unsolicited parenting tip: the correct answer is NOT "certainly not the people in the stands watching the game." Found that out the hard way). Regardless, they were praised after every game. "Mom! Did you see that hit I got!" "Yes! It was amazing! I am so proud of you!" Now that they are older, though, we lace in some critiques. After all, my older son is playing "big diamond" league now. We say things like "You should work on your fielding a little bit." "You have a great arm, just don't let those balls get by you when you play the outfield." And when they have a phenomenal double play, you better believe we run around telling everyone like they just single handedly won the World Series. As I said, though, they need critique/gentle criticism as they get older or they wont grow. Most parents are aware of this. Most coaches are as well. They yell, cajole and practically turn hand stands to get the best out of their players. They also praise a job well done. What kids don't need is a screaming, raving lunatic hurling insults throughout the entire game. Which brings us to last night.
This was actually a make up game from the night before, where; after watching our coaches run around for an hour trying to dry the field; the umps decided it wasn't safe. That can be a story for another day. So the teams are warming up hoping that tonight they'll actually play. Me? I'm sitting in my car basking in the warmth for as long as I can. If there were horrible interactions during this time, I can only imagine them. As the game is getting ready to start, the umpires call the coaches over to discuss ground rules, what will constitute a home run, etc. Our coaches complied promptly. The other team took their sweet time to even acknowledge the umps. This already raised my hackles because it seemed to be blatantly rude. I decided I was being unnecessarily judgemental. Then the spittle began to fly. From the sidelines Coach Madman began to yell at everyone. His players, other coaches, the umps. By the end of the game he looked like a rabid Jabba the Hutt with foam, sweat and insults flying everywhere. The nicest thing I can say for him is that he seemed to distribute his disdain evenly across the board. Nothing pleased him.
While the scoreboard suggests their team just barely pulled ahead for the win, I'm not so sure they did. Their faces didn't radiate from the glow of a hard fought win. They didn't pack up their gear surrounded by high fives and atta boys. They looked more like war weary soldiers than a winning sports team. I'm sure many of them will go on to play ball in high school and college. There might even be a pro among them. Hopefully, though, if they move on to coaching their children's teams in the future, they'll have had better role models to base their techniques on then what I witnessed last night.
My children will be the first to tell you that it is exceedingly difficult for me to watch a professional game quietly. Thankfully, most of these are seen from the relative obscurity of my livingroom. That does not dissuade me in the least from coaching loudly and occasionally inappropriately. (It took Wolf almost an entire football season to stop being on high alert as I screamed at the TV). I don't yell out specific plays that should have been run, players that should have been fouled, or anything that even remotely suggests that I have more experience/better insight than their current coaches. Rather, it's more of a "Run the damn ball" followed by a lengthy string of expletives. When I am lucky enough to be at games, I try to tone down the more colorful portion of my coaching for the sake of the people sitting next to me. But I still share my views of each play. These are grown ass men who make more money playing that one game than I will make in a year. They can handle it. If not, they can wrap themselves up in their chauffeured cars and cry about it all the way home to their mansions. That is not the case when children are involved.
Our boys were late to the baseball playing experience. They both missed T ball and I would be a bigger liar than any politician if I said I'm sorry to have missed that painful experience. We still had our fair share of the learning years, however. If you've ever watched small kids play, you know that their "at bat" lasts until they hit, or an hour has passed. The coaches during these years have to have the patience of a saint. I used to love when the kids would ask me who won. (Unsolicited parenting tip: the correct answer is NOT "certainly not the people in the stands watching the game." Found that out the hard way). Regardless, they were praised after every game. "Mom! Did you see that hit I got!" "Yes! It was amazing! I am so proud of you!" Now that they are older, though, we lace in some critiques. After all, my older son is playing "big diamond" league now. We say things like "You should work on your fielding a little bit." "You have a great arm, just don't let those balls get by you when you play the outfield." And when they have a phenomenal double play, you better believe we run around telling everyone like they just single handedly won the World Series. As I said, though, they need critique/gentle criticism as they get older or they wont grow. Most parents are aware of this. Most coaches are as well. They yell, cajole and practically turn hand stands to get the best out of their players. They also praise a job well done. What kids don't need is a screaming, raving lunatic hurling insults throughout the entire game. Which brings us to last night.
This was actually a make up game from the night before, where; after watching our coaches run around for an hour trying to dry the field; the umps decided it wasn't safe. That can be a story for another day. So the teams are warming up hoping that tonight they'll actually play. Me? I'm sitting in my car basking in the warmth for as long as I can. If there were horrible interactions during this time, I can only imagine them. As the game is getting ready to start, the umpires call the coaches over to discuss ground rules, what will constitute a home run, etc. Our coaches complied promptly. The other team took their sweet time to even acknowledge the umps. This already raised my hackles because it seemed to be blatantly rude. I decided I was being unnecessarily judgemental. Then the spittle began to fly. From the sidelines Coach Madman began to yell at everyone. His players, other coaches, the umps. By the end of the game he looked like a rabid Jabba the Hutt with foam, sweat and insults flying everywhere. The nicest thing I can say for him is that he seemed to distribute his disdain evenly across the board. Nothing pleased him.
While the scoreboard suggests their team just barely pulled ahead for the win, I'm not so sure they did. Their faces didn't radiate from the glow of a hard fought win. They didn't pack up their gear surrounded by high fives and atta boys. They looked more like war weary soldiers than a winning sports team. I'm sure many of them will go on to play ball in high school and college. There might even be a pro among them. Hopefully, though, if they move on to coaching their children's teams in the future, they'll have had better role models to base their techniques on then what I witnessed last night.
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