The Boss Would Kill Me
But at least we (usually) run through first base
George Steinbrenner is buried at Trinity Memorial Gardens in Trinity, Florida. If anyone in the Greater Tampa area has sensed cosmic disruptions lately or witnessed erratic wildlife behavior, I can explain.
The Boss is upset. Very upset. With me.
It started innocently enough. After all, every losing streak starts with one loss. For the 8u Yankees, playing on the sun-baked all-dirt infields in suburban Carlsbad, that first loss was on March 2, by the score of 16-4.
We were 0-1, but it was early March. If you’re playing ball under blue skies that time of year, are there really any losers?1 I’m here to say — 12 games later — the answer still is no. I can name five things off the top of my head that are more important than winning when it comes to seven- and eight-year-olds playing baseball.
Ground rumbles in Trinity, Florida. Customers at several nearby Publix locations report cereal boxes falling off the shelves. A cacophony of car alarms honk, beep, and bellow throughout the Tampa area. In Clearwater, unconfirmed reports of birds falling from the sky reach the local evening news.
I believe I owe you an explanation. The Yankees? Yeah, that was my initial reaction, too. When I opened the league director’s email, I didn’t expect to see it.
All managers had been asked to rank five team names from about 20 options. In four total seasons (fall and spring), I had never gotten anything less than my second choice. So, sure, I can throw a bone to the New Yorkers in my life, in my home; I’ll drop the Yanks in the five-hole. It would never happen. Someone else might be awarded the Angels and D-backs, but no way would I miss out on the Twins and the A’s.
Oh, the naiveté of an east coast boy living in Southern California. What have I done?
Shock, though, quickly turned to enthusiasm. What better way to teach first-graders about the game’s great history than in pinstripes? These kids might not know much, but surely they’d know the Sultan of Swat, the King of Crash, the Colossus of Clout (the Colossus of Clout!)… Babe Ruth! The Great Bambino!
And they did.
The team was unable to come to a consensus as to when exactly Ruth was in uniform, but they at least knew of his might. In fact, when asked when he played, they guessed every decade but any of the three acceptable responses.
What I didn’t realize at the time — our first practice of the season — was that our boys were reminding me that they were, well, young boys. In a league of kids just beginning elementary school, our roster featured 11 first-graders and only one second-grader. About half of the kids were still only six-years-old. Simply running through first base would be a success on most days. Simply running would suffice.2 It was expected to be a (re)building year.
No matter what, we were the Yankees. Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle, DiMaggio. Berra, Jeter, Rivera, Munson. Roger Maris was merely a footnote.3
We were the Yankees, and it was going to be okay. Then the losses started to pile up. The kids didn’t notice at first. It helped that we kept winning the base race — the full-team relay around the bases that takes place after most games. Moreover, these kids are horrific scorekeepers. We lost our second game, 20-13. My son told me in the car that we had won, 19-17. One of his friends said it was 18-14. Who was I to argue?
It wasn’t until the fifth game that the losing caught up to my son. We dropped a 15-14 battle, a game in which the boys knew, heading into the bottom of the sixth, they needed three to tie and four to win. We got two.
And then we won the base race. The game had already been washed away — and then chased with Gatorade.
Last weekend we got shutout, 23-0. The pitching machine really had our number. The good news is that we get another crack at that team on Tuesday in the overcomplicated playoff-seeding two-game pool play! (No, it will not be live-streamed.)
Most weeks, we’ve gotten a little better than the previous week. It doesn’t help the run differential, but that’s not why we play. I’ve come to embrace the variability. I try to remind everyone who will listen how easy the game becomes once you’re no longer in the lineup.
Little by little, we tackle the fundamentals. We play catch. We sometimes round first base.
The Yankees are 0-13. The Boss would not be happy.
At least we’re not the Mets.
My answer is no, though I’ve been exposed to many coaches this season who would strongly disagree.
One of these days, I may expound upon my feelings on youth baseball, youth softball, and the highly questionable priorities of our society, but not today. The Boss doesn’t want to hear about it.
Roger Maris