Saturday, June 14, 2014

Teeball: The Final Game



Today was the last game of my son’s first teeball season and I must admit there is a small part of me that is sad that it has come to an end.  As frustrating as it could be at times – lack of an assistant coach, late games and no access to equipment – it had some spectacular and special moments as well – watching the kids figure out what to do and enjoying my son’s quirkiness.  Like me, there were things about the season my son disliked – standing in the field when nothing was hit to him, not getting a snack when parents forgot them, and not being able to hit more than once an inning – but there were also things that made him laugh and smile and have fun – getting a thumbs up from me, making new friends, getting to field more than one ball a game and running the bases, oh how he loved being on base.   

            Only five kids out of seven showed up to play the last game.  Not even the assistant coach – or his son – was there, nor did he have the decency to tell me they weren’t going to be there.  But I suppose when you only show up to coach three games out of fourteen it is understood that you won’t be there.  One of the little boys who did show up had fallen asleep on the way to the field and when his parents woke him up he was too groggy to play.  I tried to coax him out onto the field for the last game but he had no interest in playing and I didn’t want to force him.  However, we weren’t too short on players since one of my son’s school friends was there – having played an earlier game – and when he asked if he could fill in for one of my missing players I said sure.  

            Sadly, my son probably saw less action in the field today than in most prior games.  In the first inning he played wingman, but only one ball was hit to him.  After fielding the ball, instead of throwing it to first, he ran it into home and simply placed in on the tee for the next batter.  I think he was eager to get the game over with since he knew he were going to a party afterwards and he was excited to get there so he could play with his friend.  Needless to say, he was slightly exasperated when the coach of the other team took the ball off the tee, handed it back to him and kindly encouraged him to throw it to first.  In the second inning he asked me if he could play first, and since I was eager to have the last game end on a good note I readily agreed.  As usual, he let every ball get passed him and half the time he even looked surprised that the ball was headed in his direction.  Sometimes I wonder if he really likes to play first or if he just wants to stand there because it is where everyone else wants to be.  In the final inning he asked to play second base and when I said yes he ran over to stand on the base.  When I explained to him that the second baseman actually stands between first and second he argued with me.   According to his four year old logic – and perhaps the logic of everyone not so well acquainted with the game – if the first baseman stands next to first base then the second basemen has to stand equally close to second.  After lots of prodding, he finally moved to the correct spot.  While he was there, only one ball was hit to him, and when it was hit I screamed his name and told him to get it. But one of the older kids totally ignored me, out ran him and plucked the ball up just as he was about to reach for it. Disappointed, frustrated and angry, he fell to ground and with his back on the grass and his arms and legs stretched towards the sky he winked at the sun and smiled.  If only I knew what was going through his mind.  He did not want to get up and so I had to carry him back to his position, but by then his mind was completely out of the game and he hand no interest in playing.

            The first time up at bat he hit the ball and instead of running to first, he took off his helmet and tried to hand it to his school friend, since his friend was up next and did not have his own helmet.  “No,” I screamed, “Run to first, you have to run to first.” But he didn’t listen until I grabbed the helmet, put it back on his head and pointed him to first.  When he got to the base he looked crushed and I felt terrible.  So I went up to him and explained that it was very nice of him to want to share with his friend, but in teeball, when you hit the ball you have to run to first right away.  And once on the base, you need to keep the helmet on your head.  But he was mad at me for having gotten frustrated at him and so he didn’t talk to me for an inning an a half.  The second time at bat he did much better.  However, it is rather adorable the way he watches the ball – while holding the bat - for a second or two before his instinct to run kicks in, at which point, he tosses the bat and, only when it lands on the ground, does he actually run.  In that inning he made it to third without incident but once he got to third he crouched down and picked up a rock.  When the next batter hit the ball, he ran three fourths of the way home, paused, dug a small hole, planted the rock and then continued on to home.  Later on when I asked him why he planted the rock he responded, “I loved the rock and so I wanted it to grow more rocks.”  My son’s third time at bat produced the first legitimate out all season.  He hit the ball squarely to the kid on the pitcher’s mound.  The kid fielded it flawlessly and threw it to first.  With his foot on the bag, the first baseman caught the ball before my son even got half way.  But since teeball doesn’t actually calculate outs my son got to remain on the base and eventually run home.

            After the game, each of the kids got a small bobble head trophy for participating in the season.  My son was thrilled to get his first trophy, but the black spots on the gold troubled him greatly, so much so that he announced that when he got home he would have to wash his trophy. I tried to explain to him that the black wasn’t dirt, it was just the trophy’s natural coloring but he didn’t believe me.  Instead, he made me promise that I would give him a wet towel and soap at home so he could give the trophy a ‘bath.’  

In the car, he clutched the trophy in his hand, his smile etched with pride.  Beaming, he asked me, “Why do you have lots of trophies at Nonna and Ba-bap’s house?”

            “Because,” I answered, “A long time ago, I used to be really good at the sports that I played.”

            “Maybe,” he said, looking from me to the trophy, “I can bring my trophy to Nonna and Ba-bop’s house and put it with yours.”

            “Yes, you could do that if you would like.”

            “But if I did that I couldn’t see it every day.  Maybe I’ll keep it home, but I’ll bring it to Nonna and Ba-bop’s just to show them.  Okay?”

            “Okay.”

            As for me, I was rather surprised that some of the parents gave me a card thanking me for coaching their sons.  I was even more surprised to find a gift card inside the card.  I must admit, it is nice to feel appreciated.

            So, the big question is, Will I coach again next year?  And my answer will have to be, It depends entirely on my son.  If he wants to play next year then yes, I will probably coach.  As frustrating as it could be at times, I don’t think I could go from coach to spectator.  Now that I better know the kinks of the league, I’ll be better equipped to deal with – or rather ignore – the things that troubled me most.  


                                             Photo taken by Kati Jaeger

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