Sometimes, an Uber ride conjures up unrelated stories.
Today, I picked up two ladies and two small children returning to Houston. Somehow, we began discussing youth sports on the way to the airport.
I coached eighteen kids’ teams as our five children grew up. I’ve told stories about those teams in several other blogs, so I won’t go into great detail about those. Eighteen teams and zero championships. Maybe that’s why I don’t go into great detail!
I began coaching at the T-Ball level more than thirty years ago. Our son, Finch, was six years old. I coached his teams until he reached sixteen. During that stretch, I coached our twins, Kathryn & Kary, in softball, basketball, and volleyball. My last coaching job was about seventeen or eighteen years ago.
Until this spring. My son-in-law cajoled me into helping him coach my granddaughter’s four to six-year-old T-Ball team. (For the second time, my “suggestions” from the stand about strategies and player skills put me back on the field. Someday, I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut!)
As we started practicing and playing the first few games, I realized the challenges of dealing with that age. At sixty-nine, I’m approaching the time of life when attention spans diminish. After all, I spent nine of the last ten years with folks who have lived for over one hundred years.
We’ve all heard the phrase, “like herding cats,” describing the difficulty in training these four- to six-year-old children to play team sports. You’re wasting your time if you try to get them to line up in a single file. Unless you are trying to get them to play their position, and the opposing batter slams a grounder through your infield.
Now, they neatly form a single file and run to the outfield to retrieve the ball. Your position players forget their assignments and create a pile of bodies as they wrestle to possess the magic orb. Don’t even think about asking the winner to hit the cutoff man! There is no cutoff man. Your opponent is touching every base while half of your players are arguing about the fairness of the pursuit.
Back to the attention span, or the total lack thereof. One thing motivational speakers taught their listeners is that everyone loves the sound of their name. I know that to be true. The other coaches and I have tested that theory numerous times.
Maybe the one who demonstrated that the most was “Eddie.” (Name changed to protect everyone.) He was playing second base as I tried to get him to understand what we expected from his position.
“Eddie!” … “Eddie!” … “Eddie, look at me!” … “Eddie!!!” “LOOK AT ME, EDDIE!!!” (In the interest of space and your time, I’ve left out the 47 repeated attempts to get Eddie’s attention, even though it took less than 60 seconds to say his name a zillion times.) I could even hear his parents in the stands, “Eddie! Listen to your coach!”
Matt, my son-in-law and head coach, felt the power in Eddie’s bat. Eddie’s swift, home-run swing met Coach Matt’s forearm as he placed the ball on the tee.
Another player, Ricky, will look at the batter for three seconds before twirling in circles and kicking up enough dust to rival the Oklahoma dust storms from the early 20thcentury. His best play occurred while he had his back to the batter. The batted ball struck his leg as he played one of our three second base positions. The throng of teammates fielded the ball and managed to get to the bag before the runner. We were proud.
I could go on and on about the antics, but you’ve seen it before. By the way, youth soccer creates the same single-file phenomenon—more of a swarm motion than a plan.
One of the ladies in my Uber thanked me for giving her insight about very young kids and team sports. She said, “I’ve felt a lot of pressure to get my three-year-old into a summer soccer program. It feels like all the other parents have their kids in sports, even at that age. I’m afraid my child will fall behind.”
I advised her to take her time. After years of coaching, I’ve seen too many kids burn out. I also told her that it could be worthwhile if she finds coaches who believe in making the game fun, especially at that age. But, seriously, three?
Then, I thought about the kids on our Washington Nationals T-Ball team. There is nothing more rewarding to a volunteer coach than having those little tykes come up and hug you. One of our players approaches me each practice and game, hugs me, and says, “I missed you since our last game!”
Maybe it is worth the effort!
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(Please stay in touch. I’ll be releasing my book soon. I’ll let you know as soon as I have the information. I appreciate your support! If the book does well, the story above will be in the follow-up edition.)
Thanks, and God Bless,
Tommy