How great is the opposing pitcher? Before tonight he's never given up a run in regular season little league play. In two years. Only in the tournament season. We scored on him twice, in two different innings and they were both on hard fought RBI singles. (Emmett got one of them.)
Indeed, he sounds like an outstanding pitcher -- which really says something about YOUR team, since they were able to score on him not once, but twice. And go Emmett!!!
And my little guys were getting hurt. Drilled in the back and hit by flying bats but they didn't come out.
I have this theory (having been hit by many softballs, which, despite the name, are NOT SOFT) that the kind of pain you inevitably experience while playing sports makes you less afraid of the potential of (some kinds of) non-sports-induced pain. And I'm not referring to any kind of kinky activity, here. Other stuff. Which, of course, I'm drawing a blank on right now.
Granted, I was raised by a woman who had horses for most of her childhood/adolescence, whose concept of "pain" is measured against getting kicked by a pissed-off Quarter Horse. (The lesson is something like, "Are you still breathing? You'll be fine. Now pick up those teeth.")
(The lesson is something like, "Are you still breathing? You'll be fine. Now pick up those teeth.")
As Cindy has noted, I definitely coach (and parent) from the "rub some dirt on it" philosophy line. In fact, one of my players came running up to me during warmups asking for a band aid after he scraped his elbow and my response was very much "What? You're not bleeding. Get back out there."
Of course, there's a balance to be drawn and when my players get hit by a ball I know they're as much shocked and scared as they are hurt. And it hurts plenty. That's something that I always acknowledge and validate with them. But it's usually not damaging and that's kind of the distinction. Learning to deal with painful things that aren't really injurious. Not more than a bruise.
But so much of baseball coaching is about teaching them how to handle their fear. It's a legitimate fear, but you have to master it if you want to play.
Similarly, I have to deal with the emotional stress of pitching. They all want to pitch until they have a bad outing and then they're all hemming and hawing and "But I don't want to start! And I don't want to close! I just want to pitch where I'm in a no pressure situation in the middle innings and I'm awesome! Can you do that for me?" They want the glory of being the pitcher, but they have to learn that the pitcher gets that glory because they have to deal with so much stress.
The Onion has killed off Herbert Kornfeld. This was his last column: [link]
As Cindy has noted, I definitely coach (and parent) from the "rub some dirt on it" philosophy line. In fact, one of my players came running up to me during warmups asking for a band aid after he scraped his elbow and my response was very much "What? You're not bleeding. Get back out there."
Chris got "hurt" during practice on Saturday. I told him to walk it off, and thought you'd be so proud of me.
Poor Ben's team sucks out loud. They've lost all three games to date. One was called during the game on account of rain, but it was a mercy -- they were losing 9-0. Last night's loss was a more reasonable 11-9. Ben and one other boy seem to be the only kids on the team that actually know how to play baseball. My poor kid. Last year his team almost made it to the championship. The year before that, I think he was on the losingest team in the league. Baseball is his first love, and it's always a roller coaster ride for him.
Herbert Kornfeld R.I.P. Or, um, I pour a 40 on the ground, or something....
From his last column:
Shitload o' turnovah in tha hizzy, too. Peeps used 2 make a career o' this place; ain't that way no moe. I no soona done sexin' up a Cash Room bitch than some new big-hair ho take her place.
Ain't it the truth....
eta:
Daddy H still in full effect, y'all. Tha bling, tha fame, an' tha bitchez keep flowin' in, but that shit ain't what matta. They ain't what kept me in tha game foe so long when so many o' my A.R. bruthahs never got promoted, or got hooked on Sharpies, or gave up on tha reeceevin' an' went into tax preparin' or auditin' or some other pitiful shit.
No, it wuz always 'bout tha numbahs. Tha numbahs. An' this Stone-Col' Funkee-Fresh Mack Daddy Supastar Enforca O' Midstate Office Supply will be crunchin' 'em an' balancin' 'em 2 tha grave. Much luv 2 ya, mah G's. H-Dog OUT. Peace.
sniff....
Man, one of our school administrators had a stroke this morning and isn't expected to recover. Sweetest guy you've ever met. He actually hired me on here, and my good friend J not only considers him one of her mentors, but her father is also a stroke survivor.
It's not too late to declare a do-over on today, right? Or too early to start drinking?
Oh, Ailleann, I'm so sorry.
Oh, Ailleann, that's awful. I'm so sorry.
That's very sad, Ailleann. All the best to the school and his family.
