Last night Ron also started baseball for the summer, proving once and for all that we are a) those parents who b) give up their entire summer to children’s team sports because c) reasons and also d) we are fucking masochists.
Ron’s baseball is at least at a reasonable time, thanks to me putting my foot down last year. He doesn’t start until 6:30, which gives us a solid hour to wind down from the workday and have dinner. And it’s only an hour, twice a week.
Last year I coached his age group, but I can’t this year – too many scheduling conflicts with Harry’s team, and unless I can somehow pass George off as the team mascot it’s just not feasible. I was feeling actually quite sad about this, until last night, when I saw the situation at the field.
Last summer t-ball was two teams of about 12 kids each. Each team had three coaches. The kids brought a glove & a water bottle each. The parents sat on the bleachers off the field and we usually were able to keep pretty good order. We made it through the whole season with only one skinned knee. We had fun, the kids did too, and it was a good introduction to the sport.
Things have changed a bit this year.
They’ve created four small teams of about 7 or 8 kids each. The association got a grant from somewhere and spent it buying baseball bats for EVERY SINGLE KID IN EVERY DIVISION. They started last night’s practice by giving these kids each a metal bat.
There seems to be a large number of the youngest kids possible this season, so half of those thirty-five kids are either four or five. Many of them wouldn’t let their parents leave the field. A good chunk of those parents had a younger sibling in tow.
So from my seat on the bleachers, I saw this:
- thirty-five small children, wearing matching hats, swinging bats around their heads like weapons of war
- a couple of dozen parents, standing far too close to said children, waving gloves ineffectually and saying why don’t we practice catching?
- twelve coaches, with varying degrees of effectiveness, trying to corral the children into lines, or at least cohesive groups
- toddlers EVERYWHERE
Suddenly I don’t feel so bad that I can’t coach this year. It looked like the Munchkins after the big drunk, or something. Two kids got carried off the field within the hour – one because he took a ball to the mouth, and one because he started to, ahem, pee his pants.
Whew, have fun with that, coaches! I’ll be over here discreetly drinking out of a flask and trying to explain to George why he can’t have a bat, too.
I promise this is the last baseball post for a while. Between work and baseball, there really isn’t much time left over for anything else. IT IS CONSUMING OUR LIVES.
How is your summer going so far?