Gatorubet
Loathing All Things Georgia
OK. My youngest is not a bad athlete, as he has good hand eye, and he finally joined a different playground organization that had better facilities, instead of the one just a ways from the house. It took the whole season for him to catch up, and in the extended league he started hitting good and his last game of the year his team beat the league All Star Team (the extended league being used as bp cannon fodder for the All stars) in a game he had five hits and caught two hard liners and one pop fly almost in outfielder territory when the other kid would not call it.
Here comes Katrina. He misses a year. He comes back - behind again - and says he wants to pitch. A fire baller he is not. A control master he is not. But he and I measure out the distance, make a half assed mound, and every day after work and before school he throws to dad. His coach does not seem so interested in him throwing, so I approach him and say how hard he has been practicing, and could he throw an inning before we hit the playoffs (all pre playoff games do not count). Coach looks at my son and promises him he will get an inning or a start. Games go by. He does not put him in. I have my son remind him, as I do not want to be the sort of meddling little league dad that annoys me. I miss the last two games because of work, and my wife attends, and before each one reminds him. He did not pitch.
Playoffs start. I remind the coach that he promised the kid, and could be throw to a batter or two if we a decent lead to one of the bottom line up kids. Coach has an attitude and says that nobody tells him what to do in the playoffs. I said, "Fine, it's cool, it's much better to protect a lead than to keep your word to a kid who has been throwing at 6:30 before school. It's only your word." I walk away. My son seems to spend more time on the bench during the playoffs.
New year. Fourth grade. My son does not want to play. Says "Coaches are liars and they won't let me pitch anyway." I agree. I tell him that I might want to be an assistant coach this year, even if he does not want to, but would he help me get ready. He agrees. We buy videos on pitching. He pitches to me to help me get ready, as I've bought a new catchers mitt. I start to remark on how much stronger he is and how much better he is pitching. We get the mail announcement about the sign up night and try outs. I leave it out for a week. The night before he throws to me, and on one not so bad popper I tell him "Ow that hurt. Too bad you are not playing this year. I did not pay attention and we missed the try outs. He says, "Actually, no. It is tomorrow. Can we go?" I say are you sure? He runs and gets me the sign up sheet and I agree to go to try outs.
Short version (I know - I know - it is tedious) of the last year, he practices, is not that good, and never gets in a game as a pitcher. I had the some talk with the new coach, he said sure he'd let him pitch, as he always tried hard, but......the two games that were his to start he had a really bad three day heaving 'round the clock cold, so he missed out. Now playoffs.
Last inning, we are losing to the expected champion, and the bad guys have the bases loaded, with only one out. Our only chance is to stop them and score three runs.
I'm chatting with my buddy when he points to the field. Our coach is pointing to Center field and to my son "Ubet - go in and strike em out" His teammates are not so sure about the wisdom of this by their faces. He takes the mound, and heaves the first pitch about six feet above the catcher's mitt. The other team is giggling a bit. I yell out to him, "Back yard", my code to him if he ever got in to slow down his wind up, his biggest unbalancing deal. He breathes and says he's ready. He throws three strikes, getting the number two hitter out looking.
I'm laughing with my buddy, as he has this look on his face like he wants to kill someobdy. I mean, relief pitcher scowl. One out left. First pitch, "strike one!" -caught looking. "Strike two!" - A foul tip on a ball up and away. His team mates are yelling like crazy, as they are as surprised as I am. Now the other team is into it and yelling too, as they are mad about getting struck out by someone who is not a good pitcher. "Ball!" He throws neck high, but in the middle of the zone. Finally, I cringe as I see him start to do his more exaggerated wind up he uses when he want to throw hard (usually a wild pitch over the fence at home), and I see him throw a bullet low and in, and the guy takes a big whiff for strike three.
You'd of thought that we'd won the championship. Everybody is cheering, and he's getting mobbed going in for the last at bat.
Well, we only got two the the three we needed, and we lost, and he might not play this year, but I would not trade that memory for any championship season. I kept telling him not to give up, and to try his best. I called the wife up and said sorry if you made something honey, but that my son and I were going out to have a steak dinner together.
Parenthood is cool.
Here comes Katrina. He misses a year. He comes back - behind again - and says he wants to pitch. A fire baller he is not. A control master he is not. But he and I measure out the distance, make a half assed mound, and every day after work and before school he throws to dad. His coach does not seem so interested in him throwing, so I approach him and say how hard he has been practicing, and could he throw an inning before we hit the playoffs (all pre playoff games do not count). Coach looks at my son and promises him he will get an inning or a start. Games go by. He does not put him in. I have my son remind him, as I do not want to be the sort of meddling little league dad that annoys me. I miss the last two games because of work, and my wife attends, and before each one reminds him. He did not pitch.
Playoffs start. I remind the coach that he promised the kid, and could be throw to a batter or two if we a decent lead to one of the bottom line up kids. Coach has an attitude and says that nobody tells him what to do in the playoffs. I said, "Fine, it's cool, it's much better to protect a lead than to keep your word to a kid who has been throwing at 6:30 before school. It's only your word." I walk away. My son seems to spend more time on the bench during the playoffs.
New year. Fourth grade. My son does not want to play. Says "Coaches are liars and they won't let me pitch anyway." I agree. I tell him that I might want to be an assistant coach this year, even if he does not want to, but would he help me get ready. He agrees. We buy videos on pitching. He pitches to me to help me get ready, as I've bought a new catchers mitt. I start to remark on how much stronger he is and how much better he is pitching. We get the mail announcement about the sign up night and try outs. I leave it out for a week. The night before he throws to me, and on one not so bad popper I tell him "Ow that hurt. Too bad you are not playing this year. I did not pay attention and we missed the try outs. He says, "Actually, no. It is tomorrow. Can we go?" I say are you sure? He runs and gets me the sign up sheet and I agree to go to try outs.
Short version (I know - I know - it is tedious) of the last year, he practices, is not that good, and never gets in a game as a pitcher. I had the some talk with the new coach, he said sure he'd let him pitch, as he always tried hard, but......the two games that were his to start he had a really bad three day heaving 'round the clock cold, so he missed out. Now playoffs.
Last inning, we are losing to the expected champion, and the bad guys have the bases loaded, with only one out. Our only chance is to stop them and score three runs.
I'm chatting with my buddy when he points to the field. Our coach is pointing to Center field and to my son "Ubet - go in and strike em out" His teammates are not so sure about the wisdom of this by their faces. He takes the mound, and heaves the first pitch about six feet above the catcher's mitt. The other team is giggling a bit. I yell out to him, "Back yard", my code to him if he ever got in to slow down his wind up, his biggest unbalancing deal. He breathes and says he's ready. He throws three strikes, getting the number two hitter out looking.
I'm laughing with my buddy, as he has this look on his face like he wants to kill someobdy. I mean, relief pitcher scowl. One out left. First pitch, "strike one!" -caught looking. "Strike two!" - A foul tip on a ball up and away. His team mates are yelling like crazy, as they are as surprised as I am. Now the other team is into it and yelling too, as they are mad about getting struck out by someone who is not a good pitcher. "Ball!" He throws neck high, but in the middle of the zone. Finally, I cringe as I see him start to do his more exaggerated wind up he uses when he want to throw hard (usually a wild pitch over the fence at home), and I see him throw a bullet low and in, and the guy takes a big whiff for strike three.
You'd of thought that we'd won the championship. Everybody is cheering, and he's getting mobbed going in for the last at bat.
Well, we only got two the the three we needed, and we lost, and he might not play this year, but I would not trade that memory for any championship season. I kept telling him not to give up, and to try his best. I called the wife up and said sorry if you made something honey, but that my son and I were going out to have a steak dinner together.
Parenthood is cool.
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