Darrell KSR
06-23-2017, 11:20 AM
So was thinking back to kids' youth sports days and was reminded of a story when I played little league baseball. This was a year when I had a really bad coach, and the "Bad News Bears" was probably pretty close to the makeup of our team.
We didn't live in a great area, but probably a little nicer than some of the others in our little league district, and we had some pretty poor families in the league. We had a catcher on the team nicknamed, "Little Bit." Now, Little Bit really was small. He was also left-handed.
Are you sort of already getting the idea that our coach wasn't the greatest coach? Those who have played ball before know that generally, you a) don't want a small player playing catcher, and b) you don't want a left-handed player playing catcher. But we had both.
Our coach had the standard baseball equipment in the old duffel bag that you have all seen before--the standard 4 batting helmets, some baseballs, a few bats, and catcher's equipment. The catcher's equipment consisted of shin guards--which were too big for Little Bit, but he wore them anyway, and adjusted them after every pitch, a chest protector that swallowed him whole, a too-big catcher's mask, and his catcher's mitt.
The standard catcher's mitt.
For a right-handed player.
Yes, Little Bit wore a right-handed player's catcher's mitt, and caught left-handed.
Are you getting a better picture of the quality of our coach and his idea of the best position to place players?
Little Bit was fast, and he could hit. And he was very good at running back to the backstop and getting the balls he missed, as he wasn't the greatest at stopping the balls that came there. One thing we noticed was that he often lost his shoes when he was racing back to retrieve a missed ball.
We found out why. Little Bit didn't have shoelaces.
He played without shoelaces, and for the life of me, I can't remember if the reason was that the shoes he had didn't fit with shoelaces in them, or that he just didn't have them in the hand-me down-sneakers he played in.
Sneakers. I forgot, but that's what he was playing in, sneakers.
So mom and dad asked "Little Bit" if he wanted to come over to our house before the next game, which, as I recall, was on a Saturday. Little Bit was friendly and outgoing, and said yes, and mom asked if he needed to check with his mom, and he said he was good, so we just took him.
In hindsight, not sure we should've done that. But we did, it was a different time, and frankly, I'm not sure that I ever remember him having a mom. I think he walked to practice and games.
So he was over at our house, and mom put us in the car, and took us to a Payless type shoe store. They had cheap baseball cleats there, and had Little Bit try some on. Found a pair he liked, they fit, and she bought them. Little Bit thought that was the greatest gift in the world. He teared up at the gift that was bestowed upon him, and carried them in his arms like you might carry a newborn baby, precious and careful.
We got home and the ballgame was that afternoon. I remember that clearly, because Little Bit was going to eat lunch with us. Dad made hot dogs. I guess that was a good pre-game meal, we never thought about what you should eat back in those days, you just ate what you wanted, and hot dogs was baseball, anyway.
So Little Bit ate a hot dog. Loved it. And ate another. And another. And another.
Honest to goodness, you're not going to believe me when I tell you. He kept eating, and mom asked if he was sure he should eat more, and he kept saying that he always ate like that.
He ate 12 hot dogs.
And then we went to the game. In Mobile, Alabama. In hot, sunny weather. With Little Bit playing catcher, with his new shoes, and his catcher's mitt that fit the wrong hand, his too-big catcher's mask, and his chest protector that swallowed him whole, and his shin guards that twisted when he turned.
Little Bit played the worst game he had ever played. He missed more balls than normal, struck out when he got to the plate, and moaned when he was on the bench. The coach finally asked Little Bit if he was ok?
Little Bit replied, "No. They made me eat 12 hot dogs."
And that's how I ended up running laps the next practice. Damn Little Bit.
We didn't live in a great area, but probably a little nicer than some of the others in our little league district, and we had some pretty poor families in the league. We had a catcher on the team nicknamed, "Little Bit." Now, Little Bit really was small. He was also left-handed.
Are you sort of already getting the idea that our coach wasn't the greatest coach? Those who have played ball before know that generally, you a) don't want a small player playing catcher, and b) you don't want a left-handed player playing catcher. But we had both.
Our coach had the standard baseball equipment in the old duffel bag that you have all seen before--the standard 4 batting helmets, some baseballs, a few bats, and catcher's equipment. The catcher's equipment consisted of shin guards--which were too big for Little Bit, but he wore them anyway, and adjusted them after every pitch, a chest protector that swallowed him whole, a too-big catcher's mask, and his catcher's mitt.
The standard catcher's mitt.
For a right-handed player.
Yes, Little Bit wore a right-handed player's catcher's mitt, and caught left-handed.
Are you getting a better picture of the quality of our coach and his idea of the best position to place players?
Little Bit was fast, and he could hit. And he was very good at running back to the backstop and getting the balls he missed, as he wasn't the greatest at stopping the balls that came there. One thing we noticed was that he often lost his shoes when he was racing back to retrieve a missed ball.
We found out why. Little Bit didn't have shoelaces.
He played without shoelaces, and for the life of me, I can't remember if the reason was that the shoes he had didn't fit with shoelaces in them, or that he just didn't have them in the hand-me down-sneakers he played in.
Sneakers. I forgot, but that's what he was playing in, sneakers.
So mom and dad asked "Little Bit" if he wanted to come over to our house before the next game, which, as I recall, was on a Saturday. Little Bit was friendly and outgoing, and said yes, and mom asked if he needed to check with his mom, and he said he was good, so we just took him.
In hindsight, not sure we should've done that. But we did, it was a different time, and frankly, I'm not sure that I ever remember him having a mom. I think he walked to practice and games.
So he was over at our house, and mom put us in the car, and took us to a Payless type shoe store. They had cheap baseball cleats there, and had Little Bit try some on. Found a pair he liked, they fit, and she bought them. Little Bit thought that was the greatest gift in the world. He teared up at the gift that was bestowed upon him, and carried them in his arms like you might carry a newborn baby, precious and careful.
We got home and the ballgame was that afternoon. I remember that clearly, because Little Bit was going to eat lunch with us. Dad made hot dogs. I guess that was a good pre-game meal, we never thought about what you should eat back in those days, you just ate what you wanted, and hot dogs was baseball, anyway.
So Little Bit ate a hot dog. Loved it. And ate another. And another. And another.
Honest to goodness, you're not going to believe me when I tell you. He kept eating, and mom asked if he was sure he should eat more, and he kept saying that he always ate like that.
He ate 12 hot dogs.
And then we went to the game. In Mobile, Alabama. In hot, sunny weather. With Little Bit playing catcher, with his new shoes, and his catcher's mitt that fit the wrong hand, his too-big catcher's mask, and his chest protector that swallowed him whole, and his shin guards that twisted when he turned.
Little Bit played the worst game he had ever played. He missed more balls than normal, struck out when he got to the plate, and moaned when he was on the bench. The coach finally asked Little Bit if he was ok?
Little Bit replied, "No. They made me eat 12 hot dogs."
And that's how I ended up running laps the next practice. Damn Little Bit.