Let's Go, Orioles!

I'm embarking on a new adventure: coaching. It's actually not an entirely new adventure for me, as I've coached recreational softball teams and Special Olympics athletes in the past, but what makes it new for me is that I'll be coaching a dozen four- and five-year-olds, including Olivia, in t-ball. We're in a league run by the local YMCA, and our team is the Orioles.

It's one thing to tell an adult buddy of mine to put his beer down, pick up his softball mitt, and try not to completely embarrass himself over at third base. There isn't much coaching skill involved in that. It's quite another thing entirely to try to teach a bunch of little kids the very basic fundamentals of baseball, such as how to drop the bat after hitting the ball without maiming anyone within a 30-foot radius.

Fortunately, I have help. There are two of us coaching the team, and the other coach is a professional acquaintance of mine. I look forward to working with him in a different capacity--and getting to know him better--throughout the season.

Last week, I attended the Coaches Meeting and learned what the YMCA expects from its coaches. We heard the basic common sense stuff (although, in today's society, it has to be said) like: never be one-on-one with any kids, including when they have to use the restroom; don't give your own kid special treatment, good or bad; high-fives are good; butt slaps and purple nurples are bad; screaming spit-flying obscenities in a four-year-old's face while slapping him repeatedly, then withholding water from him after he runs the wrong way on the bases is bad; reinforcing the YMCA's values is good, etc. Apparently drug use, alcohol use, and tobacco use in front of the kids is also frowned upon, as are public displays of affection. Who knew?

Anyway, once we got through all that legal mumbo-jumbo stuff, we learned about the rules of our league. I knew from sign-ups that it was a non-competitive league, but I also know that some parents keep score in their heads. So I was a little nervous about my first coaching stint with other people's kids having the added pressure of unspoken expectations to "win" these non-competitive games.

But the YMCA alleviated that concern. Every kid on the team bats in every inning. There are no outs. Each kid swings until putting a ball into play, even if it takes 35 swings. Each kid advances one--and only one--base at a time. If the batter reaches first base before the other team has even collected the ball, the batter stays at first. If the other team throws the batter out at first base, the batter stays at first. The last kid up to bat in each inning gets to run all the way around the bases for a "grand slam." We play for an hour, or three innings, whichever comes first. We have 12 kids on our roster, so we'll score 12 runs each inning. Assuming the other team has 12 players, too, the other team will score 12 runs each inning. For those parents scoring in their heads, the game will be a 36-36 tie every week. So I was pleased to have the ability to "win" games completely removed by league rules.

Last night, all of the coaches, players, and parents met at the YMCA office. We got our rosters and schedules, and we got a chance to say hi to our players and their parents. Olivia, being painfully shy, crawled up my leg every time I tried to introduce her to the other coach or to any of the players on her team. I chuckled to myself, though, as I watched most of the other kids crawl up their parents' legs when I talked to them, too. One of those nice little reminders for me that Olivia is a typical four-year-old.

It was also nice to hear other parents asking the same questions and expressing the same concerns that I had when I signed Olivia up to play. It's an unknown realm for most parents, and they simply want to know what's expected of them, what to bring to practices and games, and that their kids are going to be okay. I understand the anxiety of turning my kids over to a stranger, so I went out of my way to put parents at ease. Many of them fretted that their child has no prior experience playing baseball. I assured them that I expect absolutely nothing from the kids, and Olivia has no experience, either. That seemed to relax them all.

So the adventure begins Saturday morning when the Orioles--nine boys, three girls, and two coaches--take the field for our first practice. The first three Saturdays of the season (minus Independence Day weekend) are practices. The final four Saturdays of the season are games. We all get team t-shirts on the day of our final practice to wear for our four games, and the kids get a participation trophy at the end of the season.

My goals for the season are simple: everyone has fun, and the kids learn the basics of baseball. If, by the end of the season, the kids can hit a ball off a tee, run the bases in the correct direction, and maybe field a slow grounder or two, I'll consider it a success. Oh, and if we avoid any visits from an ambulance throughout the season, that'd be nice, too. After all, we coaches are old and fragile, and we break easily.