I've been coaching or managing my son's Little Leagueteams since 2008. During that time, I'vecome to expect several events that invariably occur over the course of aseason.
For instance...someone's going tocry. This doesn't happen during EVERYgame, but given enough time, there will be a child who is overcome with emotionafter striking out or taking a pitch in the ribs or...stealing a base? This is the actual conversation that occurredduring yesterday's game, after one of my players successfully stole second baseand then frantically called time out.
Me: "You OK, Michael?"
Michael: "My hand hurts."
Me: "How'd you hurt your hand? You didn't even slide."
Michael: "I hurt it playing football."
Me: "And...now it hurts because you ran to secondbase?"
Michael: [sobbing] "Yeah..."
Me: "Can you stay in and..."
Michael: "NO!"
Other predictable in-game events include ill-timedbathroom breaks, my son Jalen theatrically hamming it up for the dozens --and dozens! -- in attendance and...the annuallack-of-effort, mailing-it-in game.
I know this is true, because -- for whatever reason -- Iremember each one. Last spring, myLittle League Athletics lost to the Braves, 17-5. And, when my team showed more effort andenergy in racing towards the postgame plate of cupcakes than they did at anypoint during the game, I dragged them all back to the field and gave them...thespeech. The previous autumn, my teamlethargically lost to a squad we'd beaten easily twice before. They, too, were on the receiving end of...thespeech.
Perhaps it's not deserving of the melodramatic ellipsisthat precedes it, but "the speech" -- my passive-aggressive attemptto convey fury and rage in a way that seven and eight-year-olds can appreciate-- has become a once-a-season tradition.
After our first two games of the current fall season,we'd defeated our opponents by a combined score of 39-4. In our third game, we played another undefeated team. This group was led by a manager who'sinfamous -- within the admittedly tight confines of our Little League district-- for his over-the-top intensity. And,in spite of the fact that they were missing their two best players, we lost15-8. I called our performance "listless"on Twitter, but I was being kind. Jalen showed some energy in a failed attemptto score from third base on a wild pitch, but not even his irresponsible TyCobb-ian spikes-high slide could motivate his teammates totry.
After the game, it was time for a team meeting and, yes,the speech.
I hit on all of the youth sports talking points, startingwith "opening qualifiers that soften coach's obvious frustration":
Look, I know it's hot out here. I know it's been a long day for some ofyou...
From there, I jumped into the basics of counting, tellingtime and emphasizing prime numbers:
Three hours. THREE. That's all the time Iask. That's how much effort I need fromyou. There are 24 hours in a day and Ineed you to give me three of 'em. Therest are yours. Do whatever you wantwith 'em.
Now, build to the guilt trip:
If you don't want to give a good, honest effort,then let me know. I don't care if we winor lose, but if you're not going to TRY, then let me know. Let me know so I can tell your parents howmuch money they're wasting. Let me knowso I can give your at-bats to someone who WANTS to be here.
And, finish with the empty threat:
If we play like that next week, I'll just havethe league cancel the rest of our season. And, you can explain to your parents why your weekends are suddenlyfree. Don't have 'em call me! You tell 'em. [pause...point...lower voice]You tell 'em.
Several days later, we held our weekly practice. It was clear that my words hadn't resonatedwith a certain player. He spent thefirst few minutes literally rolling around on the infield dirt as he pantomimeddives for imaginary ground balls up the middle. He punctuated this with self-gratifying giggles and an overallobliviousness to the drills going on around him.
Me: "ETHAN! Do you want to be heretoday?"
Ethan: "Uh, well...not really."
Me: [Genuinely shocked at his honest response] "Oh!Well, how 'bout you spend the next 90 minute running laps around the parkinglot? That way, you won't be on the field-- where you don't want to be -- and everyone's happy. Would you like that?
Look...I know how that sounded. In my defense, (1) I immediately feltterrible about telling a child to run around incoming and outgoing cars for thenext hour and a half and (2) I used my best "Ben Stiller in 'HappyGilmore'" condescending cadence, so it was more"comedic" than "child-endangerment". Besides, Ethan pulled it together for therest of our practice, so DON'T TELL ANYBODY.
Jalen was the starting pitcher in our next game, givingup one run in two innings and reducing his obese ERA from 21.00 to 14.40. (Oh, don't look at me like that. My son's the one who eats up the real-timestatistical updates. I'm merely theconduit via pocket calculator.) We wonby a 15-2 tally. Everyone in the lineupscored at least one run and, if memory serves, I didn't make any of my playerssnake their way between entering and/or exiting cars, afterwards.
Who knew the prospect of "parking lotdodge-car" could be such an effective motivational tool?
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