I was seven years old when I can first remember donning a baseball glove. (softball, to be more specific!) I was in the first grade and my dad and I spent an afternoon in the local Sports Authority- slipping my tiny hand into a myriad of stiff, brown leather, full-sized softball gloves. My fingers were hardly long enough to make it out of the expansive palm portion of the glove and into the “finger slots,” but they did. And I loved the leathery new glove smell and the satisfying thwap, thwap, thwapsound of the 12″ very hard “softball” hitting the pocket as I repeatedly tossed the pure, white ball into my leathered left hand.
It was my first softball glove, and it would last through 8 seasons of use and abuse. Dad drove over it with the car to help break it in, I would store it for the winter with a worn ball rubber-banded into the pocket, and then break it out early each spring for daily sessions of “catch” in the front yard with Dad after he got home. I certainly developed a love for that glove, and for the sport for which it was so essential.
When my left hand began sporting bruises from catching line drives on the pitcher’s mound because that treasured glove was so worn, I finally caved and bought a new one for my final four seasons in our town’s summer league. My “new” one took me through high school and then, in the summer of 2007, a season of coaching.
After playing the game for over 12 years, winning numerous championships, pitching for All-Star teams, and countless hours of fundamentals training from my dad, I was confident that I would be successful in imparting all of my hard-earned knowledge to the next generation of softball players. My sister (who is 2 years younger than I am) and I agreed to take a team composed of 5th-8th grade girls and coach them for a summer. We enlisted my dad as our fundamentals coach (it’s pretty amazing how many steps there are to throwing a softball quickly and accurately!) and began practices.
We did throwing, hitting, fielding, and catching drills. I worked for hours with our potential pitchers. We practiced running the bases and discussed the two fundamental “rules” of softball.
1. What do I do if the ball comes to me?
2. What do I do if the ball DOESN’T come to me?
What we should have added to that list is 3. What do I do if I’m on base and my teammate hits a fly ball?
Fast forward through our first weeks of practice, uniform distribution, and team pictures. It’s 5 pm and I’ve just rushed from my summer internship where I had spent the day agonizing over the batting order and team lineup. I still wasn’t thrilled with what I had- but it would have to work. It was our first game and I finally just figured that I’d figure it out as we went along.
The first few innings went alright. Not great, but the girls were pretty upbeat and we had escaped each defensive half of an inning with no major incidents.
In the third inning is where it all went wrong. We were at the very bottom of our batting order- the last two girls were first year players. 5th graders who were trying hard but still had much to learn. The first, a tall, rather awkward blond who will probably be a knock-out as soon as she grows out of her “ugly-duckling” phase, was walked- high-fiving my sister, the first base coach, she obediently trained her eyes on me at 3rd base, waiting for me to tell her when and how far to run. A brilliant pink helmet with a brown fountain spouting out the back comes up to the plate and I silently pray that hit or walk, she’ll get on base.
The pitcher winds up. Releases. The ball is in the air. Pink helmet swings! And the ball is on the ground, miraculously, in FRONT of the plate!
As the pitcher rushes forward to collect the ball, pink helmet takes off for first, eyes bulging in terror. (for real, she did this every time she ran the bases!) Breathlessly, she arrives safely at first.
Standing near third base, I am thankful for the miracle that has just occurred. 2 girls on base, no outs, and the top of order is up to bat. Small, wiry, and one of the fastest girls in the league, our lead-off batter steps up to the plate, eyeing the pitcher- sizing her up. Not one to be patient, she swings at the first pitch and connects- lofting the ball high into the air right above the pitcher. The batter takes off for first, and pink helmet, panicked that the batter is barreling towards her, sprints for second base.
Meanwhile, the runner on second panics when she sees that pink helmet is speeding towards her and is full of confusion when she looks down the baseline for third base where I am frantically yelling for her to STAY ON SECOND BASE! She takes a few hesitant steps towards me before deciding that pink helmet will surely kill her if she’s in the way. My sister is jumping up and down, screaming her fool head off for pink helmet to get her butt back to first base but to no avail.
The ball drops effortlessly into the pitcher’s glove (first out!) and she neatly twirls on the spot to throw the ball to the short center standing on second base (second out!). With pink helmet now standing on second base, looking bewildered, the short center effortlessly tosses the ball to first base, completing a perfect triple play.
I have a lot to learn about being a coach.
