You Have to Know Your Limitations

Many posts in the early days of this blog mentioned my experiences coaching youth sports, especially baseball.  It is a thankless job and the parents were the worst part of it. Mostly the complaints from the stands were my failure to recognize that little Billy was the next great shortstop, if I only gave him a chance. Why don't  you let my left-handed superstar play second base, and why is my kid sitting out  (every kid sat out equal innings by the rule of the league). Never once was i irritated by a parent in tbe stands saying "Hey, do you need some help?" So it is with trepidation that i complain about the granddaughter's softball coach. 

I will admit I was not the greatest coach, especially when the kids got older. When they were small I could teach the basics - catching, throwing, and especially hitting. This coach has done none of that. These are six and seven year-olds, they need constant instructions and reminders, especially when it comes to hitting.

"Elbow up. Look at your feet. Swing through the ball." Etcetera. The only girl who gets this help is the coach's daughter. Most important at this beginning level (coach pitch) is someone who can consistently pitch a hittable ball. The girls need to see the same pitcher every game who can get the ball across the plate. Ideally, this pitching coach can adjust to each girl's swing. It is hard, and frankly, my ability to do this is why I was originally asked to help out in baseball when when my oldest boy was six or seven. On this team they have changed pitchers almost every game, sometimes midgame. The head coach wants to pitch, but bounces the ball in front or on the plate nearly 100% of the time. The girls get 5 pitches or three strikes and every unhittable pitch is a killer. 

Last night the coach struck out the side because not a single pitch was hittable. That is great if you are pitching for the Chicago Cubs, not so much against little girls. No one, not even Babe Ruth, can hit a ball that bounces in front of the plate. *

One mom pitched some games earlier in the season and did a great job, but she is not in with the three official coaches (who are all buddies) so they refuse to let her help. Likewise, they told my SIL, who was an all-state baseball player, they had no need of his help either. It may be the Best Place to Live, according to many reports, but they are still Suburban Moms. Mean Girls goes way past high school.

The result is girls who still cannot swing the bat and  who have no idea where to throw the ball on defense. This important because at this age is when kids become frustrated and never come back when they cannot hit. It is incumbent on anyone who coaches at the early levels to do everything to make the experience positive. Help, instruction and positive support are essential.  It is okay to have no idea what you are doing at that level as a coach. You are there for your kid. It is not okay to refuse help because your ego gets in the way. 

Luckily I know enough to whisper my mumbled frustrations in my lawn chair or in the car driving home. I don't want to be "that" grandparent.**

*how hard is it to pitch it to bounce two feet behind the plate if you can't get it right? Pitch to a spot, not the hitter. 

**see my novel Suburban Moon for what happens when you are.

If you are that person, well, I'm not sorry

 Let me say from the start I love animals. Growing up we had a veritable menagerie; dogs, cats, guinea pigs, birds, turtles, goldfish, a chipmunk, chickens, ducks,  even frogs as house pets. In the house. For most of my teen years my dog slept with me. I like animals and they generally like me.

I don't like animals in stores or restaurants.  Animals are dirty. I wouldn't want you standing barefoot in my grocery cart and your hairy, shedding dog's feet are even dirtier. You do not need to take your pet to the hardware store nor the department store nor a restaurant.  

I'm not talking about legitimate service dags. You know what I am referencing. 

I saw a twenty-something toting around a cat in a baby carrier at Meijer last week. Give me a break. Emotional support cat? Your cat doesn't even like you. And it sure does not want to be cuddled in the canned goods aisle.

If you are so emotionally needy you can't go into public without your dog, cat, monkey, turkey, snake, whatever, then get some counseling.  I'm serious. If you cannot separate from your pet to leave the house, then order your food and groceries delivered. Have Amazon bring it. If society is too daunting without clutching something furry, buy a little stuffed animal to hold on to like a three year-old. 

So many of the jerks who dragged their dog of every size to Lowes when I toiled there were of the "Look at me"  narcissist type. Your pug doesn't need to help you choose a new appliance. Your beagle has no opinion on 2x4s, and your Great Dane cannot help you pick out a new grill. If your poodle needs exercise, then go to a dog park, or a jount around the neighborhood.  Yeah, it is cold or raining - welcome to pet ownership. 

We were at the flower store last week and an old lady asked us for help when she couldn't get her pot onto the counter. The wife gave her a hand. The old lady couldn't handle her stuff because one hand was holding a leash attached to a little dog. There was no reason to bring her little yapper to the garden center. 

You may disagree. You are wrong. 

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter

Around 8PM last night I decided I was taking today as a vacation day. I want to spread some mulch and after the heavy rains Wednesday I need to mow. I have to cut back the neighbor's weeds that are growing through my fence. Things are slow this week at work anyway. I might even get ambitious enough to power wash the porch and patio. Probably not. But I might over the weekend.  

How about a nice tune hearalding the coming summer? 

Inspiration fails me.

 I don't know why I'm up just before 5 aye em, but I am. We got beaucoup rain yesterday, but things look better for the next week or so. I hope so, my humidor is calling me. 

Gurgle gurgle goes the gutter

 It's probably raining at your house too

And I sprayed some unwanted weeds in the flower beds.

 Yesterday morning I put out my American flag and then I dragged out the smoker. I drove down to the grocery.  I threw the stuff for a perfect Memorial Day dinner in the cart.

Around noon I got things started. By supper time it was all ready; pulled pork (from a small pork shoulder), baked beans, cheesy potato casserole, and corn on the cob I cooked in the husk on the grill. Sunday we picked up some strawberries from the farmers market and we had strawberries on pound cake for desert after I washed up the dishes. 

In Memorium

 

They gave the ultimate sacrifice so we can be free.