The Bittersweet Finale

Last night was Luke's final T-ball game. I have mentioned that I was the accidental coach, but have loved the opportunity and even told the original coach that I would coach "Coach Pitch" with him next year if he wanted. He said he would, but only if I would be the head coach from the beginning.

The sweet part of the finale was that we had a good season. I think we learned some things about baseball and I know we had fun. (I say we because I think the players did and I KNOW I did.) We tried to share the wealth and let everyone play every position, even on the days when I would have much rather had Luke or Teigan on the mound. I think the kids came away with a sense of respect for the coaches and the parents commented several times on the good job we had done. I believe many of the things I wanted to accomplish and liked about coaching that I mentioned here came to pass. It was a good season.

The bitter part of the finale was two-fold. First, is the realization that next year is "Coach Pitch" and then who knows what from there. LCAA offers the coach pitch and we will most likely play that, so many of the good aspects will still be in place, but it is a vivid reminder to me that Luke is getting older. With that also comes the knowledge that if he wants to continue to play, he will soon have to move to a competitive league. This tension for me was highlighted on our way to the after-season party when Luke says: "Dad, I think I am going to play baseball all my life like you did soccer. I want to see all of your trophies when we get home." I told him that I thought he probably already had more trophies than I had received my entire life. "You mean you didn't get a trophy every year you played like at LCAA?" Well, no, actually, I didn't. In fact, most leagues give trophies only to the best teams and they keep score and everyone doesn't get to bat every game and the good guys get to play... If it is time for that transition, it is time, but I sure have enjoyed getting to answer the end of game question with, "Well, everyone won. You had fun, didn't you?"

The second part of the bitter is more personal. I realize that T-ball is a small part of the lives of these kids and do not pretend that I made any difference in their lives besides help create/sustain an environment where they could have fun, be encouraged, and enjoy getting to play, even when they may not have been very skilled at playing. There was, however, a part of me that was depressed last night as I compared what I do for a living to what I did as a volunteer and accidental coach. I felt much better about 10 1-hour games and a couple of practices than many of my days at the office. Cognitively, I recognize that my job as a fund raiser makes a difference in the lives of college students. (It allows them to get a quality education in a Christian environment ... doesn't every letter I write say this?) I know changing lives is something more than just a catchy slogan on our business cards. I do wonder, however, how effective I really am at changing lives. On a larger scale, I wonder how successful the university as a whole is at changing lives?

I believe lives are changed in very organic ways. I say organic to mean natural, simple, almost grassroots kinds of ways. It is the organic nature of change that has caused many "postmodern" thinking individuals to turn from church and seek a glimpse of the sacred in more relationship oriented ways. God they like, it's the church they can't stand, or so the saying goes.

It is the reason community is so important, because it is there that relationships can develop that speak to and hear directly the ills, hurts, successes, and joys of our lives. When these times are shared, they can be redeemed and shown to be Godly, sacred moments. I would venture to say freshman English doesn't make a big difference to students, but a freshman English professor can propel a student to a life of greatness. The ability to parse a sentence or understand the imagery of Hawthorne may not change the world, but a student shown God active and alive in the lives of His people can turn the world upside down. Last night, I left wondering if an accidental coach may have done more for the Kingdom than all of the dollars I raised the last five weeks.

I close with a quote from a large donor to a hospital in the mid-west (I don't have the reference on hand or I would cite it) who funded an entire children's hospital:

"I have been successful. Now it's time to be significant."

Another Thing I Like about T-Ball

Coaching t-ball makes you an optimist. While I would like think I lean toward the glass is half-full anyway, when you coach t-ball, everything is a good thing. Let me give some examples:

The pitcher picks up the ball, immediately turns toward first base and fires a rocket (OK, a nerf rocket) over to the first baseman, who sticks up his non-gloved hand and knocks the ball down into his glove. That's a good thing.

The pitcher picks up the ball and, like a young child trying to see how many times he can get a flat rock to skip on a smooth pond, bounces the ball to the first baseman, who easily picks up the ball and touches first base. That's a good thing.

The first baseman feels the ball hit him on the back of the leg while he is standing on the top of the base while facing the parking lot looking at who knows what. He reaches down to pick up whatever strange object has broken his concentration, thereby standing on the base while holding the ball. This counts as an out. This is a good thing.

The pitcher misses the ball but gamely chases it into the outfield. Hustle is a good thing.

The pitcher gets smacked in the head by a line drive. Getting in front of the ball is a good thing.

You see what I mean. It doesn't matter what the play is, you can find something good in it. Hope springs eternal. We'll get them next time. Play hard, play fair...

Actually, I realized the whole optimism thing while I was driving home after practice today and found myself thinking "Do you think my staff at work will think I am out of my mind if I make them all put their hands in the circle and yell '1-2-3 Development' at our year-end goal assessment meeting Thursday?"

The Accidental Coach

I didn’t plan to be the coach. In fact, I didn’t want to be the coach at all. I wasn’t even asked to be the coach – more like 4^th assistant. “We have plenty of assistants. They just are all busy and won’t make all of the games and so we need someone to sort of fill in every now and then.” Little did I know that “every now and then” was actually a euphemism for “every game.” Oh, and did I mention that the head coach would be gone for the first two games and would have a terrible migraine for the third and would have pretty much seceded his “head” title by game four.

I was pretty frustrated when the first practice rolled around. Why would we have practices at 1:00 pm on a Saturday and since I didn’t want to be coaching anyway, why should I even have to put forth any energy toward this proposition? If I had known what would transpire over the next couple of weeks, I might have been a little bit more into that first practice.

To tell the truth, I really started to enjoy it during that first practice. I had forgotten how much fun a team of four, five and six-year-olds could actually be. Not that they were any good at T-ball, mind you, but they were good at life. I couldn’t help but be reminded of what it means to take life one moment at a time and to live fully in this moment, even if this moment for you is looking at bugs when 13 other teammates are running around the bases.

And so, several weeks later, I find myself accidentally being the coach. I sort of share being the head coach – who really is the head coach doesn’t matter – but it gives me a great opportunity to learn how much I actually like coaching.

Here’s what I like about coaching.

• I like watching kids enjoy playing T-ball. Like the guys who slide into home, never mind the ball is somewhere between the second baseman and the right fielder and neither one of them have a clue where it is. As my son said when I admonished the team for not running through home plate: “But dad, you have to get your pants dirty!”
• Along those same lines, I like watching kids come up to bat and bang the ground with their bat several dozen times. I cannot actually recall big-leaguers doing this (I need to get some verification on this, I guess), but it is deeply ingrained in my mind – and the mind of my team – that is what you are supposed to do. OK, in the mind of some of them. Some are still trying to figure out which hand goes on top.
• I like watching the kids make the play they are supposed to make and seeing the light come on in their eyes that says “I got an out! I got an out!” Winning the World Series does not compare.
• I like giving high-fives and banging knuckles with the kids when they come off the field at the end of an inning. I don’t know if it makes a difference in how they play the game, but it fells like the right thing to do.
• I like watching small, short, non-athletic kids hit the ball and try to run to first – or any of the bases they head out to, for that matter. They are just too funny not to laugh at!
• Speaking of small, short athletic kids, I like the fact that for the most part, most of the other players do not care or even seem to notice that some of the players are good players and some are players who try hard and some are just out there because dad is repressed and no longer gets to be the super hero baseball stud and so he wants his kid to get a leg up on what he never accomplished. Fortunately, it is still early enough that none of that matters. It won’t be that way forever – I want to relish these moments while I have the chance.
• I like having answer the question “Did we win?” at the end of the game. While that may indicate we are a much to competitive society and are warping our kids into thinking win/lose, it may also mean that they are so busy playing, they are forgetting to keep score. Maybe I need to play that hard every now and then!
• I like seeing a player “get it.” When he scoops up a ball and then can assess which base is the easiest out – and then follows through and gets the out.
• I like being a voice that yells encouragement to my players and tries to tell them what play to make kindly, simply, and before the play starts, not after the ball has been hit. It’s hard to compete with 28 adults yelling, “Run to first, run to first.” It’s also hard for the pitcher to be able to hear any one voice while trying to pick up a slow roller back to the mound with his glove since I somehow forgot to mention you can also pick up the ball with your non-gloved hand. Quite frankly, since 98% of the time the runner is a step away from first when the pitcher actually picks up the ball, going back to the pitcher’s mound to kill the play was the best option from the start. (So there, Mr. "You've Got To Chase the Runner" Dad!)
  
• I like knowing that my player’s coach will not be a rump (my mother-in-law might read this blog) like my third-grade coach was.
• I like the fact that we play principled ball. That is, we hit the ball and run one base, even if nine of the other team’s players are in a scrum trying to see who gets to run the ball back to the umpire. And yes, even if the other team is running on us. (Although I did have a brief evaluation as to how high principles actually ranked in my mind during that game!)
• I like the fact that my son thinks it is very cool that his dad is the coach.
• I like knowing there is a possibility that these players may learn something about life from me, even as I learn something about life from them.
• Finally, I like knowing that I may actually get to be the light of Jesus to both my players and their parents. I know we play in a Christian league, but my hunch is that some of my player’s folks could use some more light of Jesus in their life. I say that only because I know I need some more of it in mine.