ESPN Exclusive: Derek Jeter Plays T-Ball in Tennessee

It's been officially confirmed for me.  Men should NOT rule the world.  Furthermore, they should never be allowed to govern a group of 4-6 year olds.  How this ever became a "man's world," I will never know.  If Eve had kept her ass away from that freakin' talking snake, all things in the world would be right.  Men would be the breeders while women would reign supreme.  Damn talking snakes...  He was obviously of the male persuasion.  I digress...

My husband who acts as assistant coach to both my daughter's softball team and my son's baseball team, was double booked last night.  My daughter and son had games at the same time at different fields.  Typically when this happens, I take my daughter to her softball game while he goes with my son to the baseball game.  Unfortunately, this happens more frequently than I'd like, and I end up missing quite a few of my son's games. 

Last night, though, we decided to change things up a little.  I took my son to his game while JP took my daughter to her game.  If the need arose, I would help coach baseball.  Lucky me...the need arose.  I was placed in charge of the dug out.  Make sure the boys bat in order.  Don't let them out of the dug out unless they are batting, on deck, or have a bathroom emergency.  Easy enough, right???

Well, in actuality, it was easy enough.  Yes, there were a few instances of grab-tail and fence-climbing, but over all the boys were good.  We're talking about little boys, after all, and not the Stepford Wives.  They were silly and funny and all over the place, but I liked hanging with them.  I'm pretty sure they like hanging with me, too, as they all smiled at me when I called them up in the line up.  Do you understand the cuteness of a toothless grin on a very eager little boy?  My heart melted each time. 

Then what's the issue, you ask?  Of course, there was an issue.  Why else would I feel the need to blog about it.  My issue was with some of the parents!  OM effn' G!  They were the ones making me nuts!  The kids were good.  Their whiney parents, on the other hand...they acted like it was the St. Louis Cardinals vs. the Detroit Tigers in game seven of the World Series! 

HELL-O?!?  What exactly are these kids here for?  Don't they play baseball for fun?  Aren't they just wanting a new uniform and hat to look cool like their buddies???  (That's definitely my son's motivation.)  Don't they come out to the ballpark merely for hot dogs and junk food and playing King of the Hill on the dirt piles?  Oh, they aren't 5 year olds?  Wow, I didn't know they were grown men making $50 million each year because of their baseball savviness.  Pardon me, Mr. LaRussa, sir.  I was wrong.

All kidding aside, these boys were there to have a little fun.  I wanted them to have fun.  After the ground rules were established, we were all pumped and ready.

Ms. LB is the boss, you got that?  Don't touch the bats unless you are at the plate or on deck.  Don't come out of the dug out without my permission.  Stay in the dug out!  Is that understood?  Who's the boss again??

LB and the boys were cool.  LB and a few parents?  Not so much. 

The parents of one little boy were especially annoying.  First of all, the boy is six years old.  Six!  Based on life expectancy statistics, he's got a good, oh, 72 years left in him!  He's lived approximately 7.5% of his total life.  Just a few short years ago, he was wearing diapers and cutting teeth.  Last summer, he probably didn't even know how to spell his name much less write it.  As of yesterday, I'm pretty sure he still couldn't tie his own shoes.  So what in the WORLD makes his parents think that he should play baseball like Derek M-effn' Jeter????

Oh, wait...  He IS Derek Jeter!  My bad.

There is no doubt that Baby Boy is the best player on the team.  Period.  He can hit the ball; he can catch the ball; he can run like the wind.  However, his parents found it necessary to critique and berate him the entire game.  At one point, Baby Boy cried because they were yelling at him so much.  These are not her exact words, but Mama Boy said something like "Well, I guess you need to gather up your things so we can go home.  Cry babies aren't allowed at the ballpark.  I don't want to hear you cry anymore!  Suck it up, or we are leaving."

WTF?!?  Are you freakin' serious?  You're yelling at him because he didn't get that last runner out?  He worked his butt off to out-run the previous batter, but you're pissed?  Last inning he hit a 3-run homerun, but he's not good enough???  How about you get your big, fat ass out of that chair and try to run those bases?  Better yet, how about running around that field for 6 innings?  With your 3-pack a day cigarette habit and your 300 pound mid-section, you probably couldn't get past first base without dying from a heart attack or emphesyma!

I shouldn't just beat up on Baby Boy's parents.  They certainly were not the only parents acting like jackasses crazy.  You would have thought we were at Nascar or the Victoria's Secret Super Bowl with all the men lined up along the fence hollering.  Maybe if they paid that much attention to their wives, they wouldn't feel the need to bully a bunch of preschoolers.  Just maybe they'd get a little more sex, release some of that pinned up aggression, and chill!  "Stop playing in the dirt!"  "You better tag that runner on 2nd, son!"  "Don't make me come out on that field after you; pay attention!"

My mama instincts started kicking in, and I was getting pissed.  Those were my boys playing on that field, and I didn't want anyone treating them poorly!  They were doing their best!  They were playing hard and giving it their all.  Meanwhile, the daddies were sitting on their rumps shouting orders. 

How could anyone expect the boys to pay attention to the game when they had 50 people shouting instructions from various directions?  One coach on the field was shouting orders while another was in the dug out shouting more orders that just so happened to be inconsistent with the orders of the first coach.  Oh, and inconsistent with what he said after the last play.  You still with me?  No wonder those kids can't win a game.

As a teacher, I've learned a couple of valuable lessons regarding the education process.  Some valuable lessons I'd like to impart upon all the coaches and/or baseball parents out there.  Pay close attention.  This is a very complex formula I am about to disclose.  Ya ready????

1. The teaching moments do not occur during the assessment.  The teaching moments come during the preparation phase.  Furthermore, the preparation phase must always come prior to the assessment phase.
2. The education process is not the sole responsibility of the teacher.  A great deal of practice at home is required in order to develop mastery.  
3. Parents have a tremendous impact on character development.  The statement "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" is profound and true all at the same time.   

I don't stop my students in the middle of a test to teach them concepts covered on said test.  Rather, we work over a period of time to learn the material.  Immediately prior to the test, we often review the concepts learned.  I never, ever, NEVER* do the "teaching" part during the exam itself.  Furthermore, it is the student's responsibility to practice and apply the concepts at home under the guidance and supervision of his/her parents. 

Seems pretty simple to me...  No rocket science involved.  Just a little common sense, a little patience, and a LOT of hard work.
 
Now stay off their asses!  If they are still playing ball at 16, then you can get raise cane.  Although, I'm sure most of these boys will crash and burn long before sixteen years old.  I have this secret fantasy that Baby Boy will quit baseball and take up an instrument like piano.  It would be wonderful for him, but I'm sure his parents would choke on their cigarettes! 

Ain't no boy of mine gonna be a damn sissy!  Band is for queers!  He's gonna play ball and live in this here double-wide until he makes the major leagues.  Then he's gonna buy his mama and me one of dem-dere double-wides with the fancy tub that shoots bubbles into the water.  We gonna gets one of dem nice above-ground pools with a little deck around it.  Yes sir-REE, Bob!  We'll be in high cotton then.   

*Never is used here primarily for effect.  As is always the case, there are exceptions to every rule and must be judged on a case-by-case basis.  This disclosure is included mainly to CYA.  You do remember my issues with Karma, don't you???