Vuvuszel Horn Sickness

I tried to watch my first World Cup soccer game yesterday. I had heard about the vuvuszel horn craziness, but I hadnt ever heard one. After 10 minutes of watching the game and hearing the constant buzz of the horns I started to feel a bit dizzy and stick to my stomach.

No more World Cup for me.

Here's an interesting article from The Guardian/UK:

World Cup 2010: BBC may offer vuvuzela-free matches

South Africa defends plastic horns which have sparked global debate over loud drone and are selling out in Britain

The BBC was investigating the possibility of transmitting an alternative "vuvuzela free" version of its World Cup coverage tonight, as the fierce debate over the buzz of the horn looked set to be heading for football grounds all over Britain.

As players, fans and coaches weighed in on whether the loud drone of the plastic horns was an annoying irritant or joyful expression of African culture, South African organisers hit back and encouraged visiting fans to export them back to their own countries.

At the same time, fans in Britain have been snapping up the horns at the rate of one every two seconds and suppliers claimed the UK had been gripped by "vuvuzela fever".

"Vuvuzelas are here to stay and will never be banned," said Rich Mkhondo, a spokesman for the local World Cup organising committee. "People love the vuvuzelas around the world. Only a minority are against vuvuzelas."

And yet again... I'm in the minority.

That Time Of Year Again

Softball is back. This morning K, L and I showed up to help out with Girls Softball Association of Franklin's registration day.

The morning started off at 9AM with moving tables and folding brochures in preperation for the arriving moms, dads and girls.

This year, again, I will have all four of my girls playing and me playing the role of assistant coach on four teams.

I am legend. Not in the Will Smith sense- only in that the entire league of 33 teams, 70 coaches, 400 girls and some 20 or so umpires all await the practice and game schedule after the association president custom designs it around me.

He kindly and graciously builds the schedule making sure that I don't have overlapping practices and games, and that enough time is built in so I can get from field to field for each game.

Practices start in early March, and soon I will be out again on the softball fields for 8 practices and then 8 games a week into early June.

Volleyball Game

Last night girl #2, L, started her volleyball career. Even though she is only in 6th grade, she made the A team (7th and 8th grade team) and got her playing time a few minutes into the first of two games.

She was so nervous yesterday before the game she thought she was going to throw up- just like she felt before the first fast pitch softball game she pitched this past spring.

It’s so easy to get worked up before the big…game, meeting, project, anything where others are counting on our performance. I had something similar a few weeks ago where I had to be “on” in a big way, and it was killing me. Then, once it started, it flowed naturally- I had been thinking about it and working on the project for some time, and the practice paid off.

I told that to L, and asked about how she felt during the game- certainly once it started and she made her first few serves (she made all her serves over the net last night) and big plays her nerves settled and she had a great time…right? Nope. She felt like she was going to throw up the entire game.

I Couldn’t Make This One Up

Allow me to set the stage. A nice party for a girl’s softball team- players, coaches and parents at one of the parents homes. Cookout. Beer. Firepit. Loud music. Screaming girls. Parents huddled together trying to have conversation. My wife was not feeling well and stayed home with my other 3 girls so I was batching it. Got it?

I was in conversation with my co-assistant coach John and his wife when another parent joined in. Her daughter was over with the rest of the girls waiting her turn for karaoke by the fire pit. I was enjoying my second incredibly good cheeseburger (cookout food tastes WAY BETTER when I don’t have to do the cooking) when the conversation turned spiritual.

We all talked a bit about the churches we attended and why when the new comer chimed in (I’ll call her Sue).

John and his wife attend Fellowship and I attend The Peoples Church in Franklin. Sue mentioned that she had attended both of those churches when she moved into the area but did not find it to her liking. She and her husband settled on a church that I had not heard of some distance out of town. We asked her why she didn’t like our churches, assuring her we would take no offense- each to their own.

She leaned in closer as the music got much louder...and the girls did too. Sue explained that she found our churches, and several others, to be just too…well…casual. She preferred a more formal church and liturgical service. When pressed to explain further she opened up. Turns out that she feels there is a lack of modesty and reverence in our more modern and emergent churches. Men in golf shorts and jeans, girls with skirts cut up to here, and low cut blouses ‘advertising to all the world what you’ve got.” She found it just too disrespectful for a church service.

Back to the stage-setting. As Sue is explain this to us, and leaning in close so I could hear her above the din, I noticed, though I tried my BEST not to, that her low cut and loose shirt billowed open 2 feet from my face. And there in all their glory were a couple things I don't think she realized she was 'advertising.'

At that exact moment it was her daughter’s turn on karaoke. As I averted my eyes and looked over Sue’s head at the girls, her daughter launched into a perfect version of Fergie’s “My Humps” belting out all the lyrics by heart, and dancing the Fergie music-video moves as if she had been practicing them for a year.

"My Humps" by the lovely and modest Fergie

What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)

What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump (ha), my hump, my hump, my hump (what).
My hump, my hump, my hump (ha), my lovely lady lumps (Check it out)

See…I told you so.






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Revenge on Red

Tonight was sweet revenge. Orange Crush, my 13 year old daughter’s softball team made it to the finals tonight.

To get here, coming up from the losers bracket because of last weeks loss (A Humbling Defeat), we had to win 3 other games with the threat of getting bumped out of the tournament if we had one more loss. The girls redeemed themselves and did a great job to get us to the finals.

As expected, we met up with the 11 & 12 year old WonderKids known un-affectionately as the Red team.

Two nights ago on Tuesday, we played a semi-final championship game and the Red team coach came to scout us out. He had heard we didn’t have our full team together when his team had beat us and wanted to see how we looked with our full roster. He had his assistant and a clip board with him, taking copious notes on our girls fielding and batting skills. He has been known to use intimidation and tricks to win. Last year during the tournament final he instructed his pitcher to purposely walk the strong hitters on his opponent’s team, and also had the girls tease and taunt liberally. As he scouted our team, one of our parents over heard him talking to his assistant about what they needed to do to beat us. They couldn’t walk our strong hitters (of our 15 girls, 8 of them are home-run hitters), but they would try to intimidate us in other ways. She heard him say that we would leave the field in tears when we met up on Thursday night (tonight).

We did in fact leave in tears. Tears of joy.

One of our girls came up with a great idea- since the enemy coach was taking notes on our players using their jersey numbers, they decided to all switch jerseys. Prior to the championship games every one of our girls switched up with another player in hopes of confusing and confounding Red team.

Because we had lost a game during the tournament and the Red team had not, we had to beat them twice in a row to win the championship. It was a long night. Our girls came out strong and played some of the best softball of their short careers. Our fielding was amazing, our hitting was very strong. We won the first game 10-1 and the second 8-2. The Red team’s coach was actually coming out of his skin- freaking out with every success we had and every error his team made. He was yelling and screaming, the Red team’s parents were yelling and screaming at their own kids, and even the Red team players were yelling and screaming at each other. They came apart at the seams, while the Orange Crush playfully and skillfully dispatched the enemy. The only intimidation that occurred that night was our team’s forceful and overwhelming performance crushing the overly-aggressive Red team coach. It was a great night.






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A Humbling Defeat

The Orange Crush. That’s the name of my daughter K’s 14 & under girls softball team I help coach. The girls have played together for several years and have come to be feared throughout Williamson County. For the last several years we have lost only one or two games, and have been the county-wide champions for 3 years straight.

Last Thursday night we were humbled. It was the first game of the double-elimination annual tournament, and 7 of our 15 girls couldn’t make it to the game. We had the absolute minimum necessary to start a game- 8 girls. Our opponent was a group of 11 & 12 year old girls that had also been playing together for a few years and had amassed a record of 50 wins and 0 losses. They had requested of the county to “play up” to the older league so that they would have some competition.

On a few other occasions we had played with 8 girls- our short stop is so strong that we have her play short AND third base and play 3 outfielders versus the 4 allowed. On all those occasions we had won, but not by the scores we had become accustomed to. Usually we win with scores like 25-1, or 28-0, or 22-4, but with only 8 players we drop to scores like 11-3 or 14-6.

The first tournament game did not go as expected. When our girls found out they would be playing a bunch of little 11 and 12 year old girls they let their guard down. They walked onto the field and got slammed. They lost their first tournament game and dropped into the loser’s bracket. One more loss and the year is over. The mood was somber, and all any of our girls wanted to do was get the whole team together and meet up with the Red team again. Odds are that will happen in the finals next week…if we make it there. 3 games to win now to make it to the finals.






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Running Man…and woman…and girl…

My daughter K will by trying out for her high school volleyball team next week. As part of the tryout she needs to be able to run a mile in 7 minutes and 30 seconds. So we are in training.

Michelle and I decided to get up with K at 6:40AM each morning and run a couple miles around our land. Fortunately our land is flat and smooth enough to run on, although the dew in the morning is actually causing pools of water inside our shoes by the time we finish.

Oh..did I say run a couple of miles? Well..more like a mile. Actually, we’ve ended up walking half a mile, and running the other half. But were getting there.

This morning we did the mile in just under 11 minutes. Yikes.






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Crazy Lady Flips Out

Tonight one of my four daughters had a softball game. It was a doozy.

A fight almost broke out. Not between the girls. No chance of that. They’re all just there to have fun. It was a couple parents on the other team that were the problem.

We were playing our rivals Hillsboro. Actually, in our area there is a very real pecking order based on how far south each team is from the hoity-toity Brentwood area. The Brentwood teams look at Grassland as folks from the sticks. Grassland, a couple miles south of Brentwood look down their noses at the Franklin teams. Franklin gets to kick around Bethesda and Hillsboro, while the folks from Bethesda and Hillsboro, and all the northern areas mentioned previously sneer at Spring Hill, Farivew..and God help them… College Grove. It’s quite funny actually.

So, tonight it was Franklin versus Hillsboro. The tension was heavy as parents from both sides prepared to see their 7 & 8 year old daughters battle to the death.

All was going well until one of the parents on the other team sort of flipped out. She didn’t like a call, and I guess the moonshine was kicking in, and she started yelling at the umpire. John the ump, a great guy, and very fair, walked over to the lady and said “Excuse me, are you the coach?” The lady didn’t answer. John repeated the question again, slower and very loud for all to hear. The lady responded “No.” And John said “I didn’t think so. If you’re not the coach, then were done here.” And walked away. The lady called out “Are you the umpire?”

John jumped back at her and told her one more crack out of her and she could go to her car. The lady flipped out and started yelling. I told all our girls to get off the field and head to the dugout. I’ve seen too many news stories of adults getting into fights at kids games. I didn’t want these little girls to see parents make idiots of themselves- or worse- get hurt.

Crazy Man got up and started defending Crazy Lady, a bit more yelling ensued, and then things finally settled down. We continued the game..and won.

After the game a couple parents came from the Hillsboro team over to us and apologized for Crazy Lady and assured us that they are not all like that. We thanked them for coming over and told them other than that incident we enjoyed playing with them.

John the umpire hung out with our team after the game and half-jokingly asked if I would walk him to his car.






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15 Strikes And You’re Out

Our little R had a very rough time recently on her 5/6 year old girl’s softball team. The first several games of her little life were marked by some level of success. Several hits from pitched balls and a few good fielding plays.

At this age, the coaches pitch the girls 3 balls, and if they don’t get a hit, they pull out the T and tee up the ball for an easy smack that usually dribbles a few feet towards the pitcher. Off they run to first base and it all comes down to how strong the pitcher (who runs to pick up the ball and throw to first base) and the first basegirl (who on average catches the wild throw and makes the out about 7% of the time) are.

All of a sudden, for no reason at all, R lost her ability to swing the bat evenly and make a hit. She started having to use the T every time she was up. And then, again suddenly, she lost the ability to hit the ball off the T.

It happened last week. She got up, missed the three coach pitches, and then one by one, for a total of 15 swings (I estimated), her bat kept connecting with the rubber T about a foot below the ball. Each time a coach had to pick up the ball, reset it, step away, and wait for the new swing. The first couple of times it was cute. By number 10 or so it became unbearably painful for me- Dad.

I wanted to swoop in and fix everything for her. To encourage her, to take her away from the pressure and embarrassment she was feeling. I could see it on her face- she was close to tears. A few of the opposing team members starting playing in the dirt, and a couple sat down. It was horrible. The pressure was bubbling up inside me to make it all ok and fix the world crumbling around my little girl. I didn’t though. Mostly because I was the third base coach and there was a coach there with her trying to help. I toughed it out. And so did she.

She finally connected with the ball- a powerful hit straight to the short-stop. It was missed (of course), and rolled into the outfield. R got a nice double.

After the game I asked her how she was and if she had fun at the game. She said she did, but that she didn’t like what happened when she got up to bat (the second and third time she got up she has the same problem as the first, but with only 2-3 swings at the T instead of the 15). She said she was sad, and that all the people everywhere were staring at her. She was close to tears. I had a sudden flashback to K when she had the exact same problem when she was 5 (8 years ago). I told R about her sister K having the same problem, and now K is one of the best hitters in the league, regularly hitting doubles, triples and homeruns almost effortlessly. That seemed to help a bit.






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Nice Coach, Mean Coach

Saturday is softball day. All four of my girls play on four different teams, so each Saturday I am on the field from morning until late afternoon.

Today first game was 10-11:30AM, then 12-1PM, another 1-2:30PM and the final game 3-4:30PM. A mighty long day indeed. In the past I have head-coached one of my girls team while assisting on the other one or two. This is the first year I have all four playing so I had to step out of the head coaching slot and am assisting on all four teams.

Not having the pressure of being a head coach has allowed me to observe more and what I see is very interesting to me. I think there are 3 kinds of coaches.

The first is the kindly super-nice coach that never yells, is always encouraging, but doesn’t really step up and push the girls or help develop core skills. To them, it’s all about having fun.

The second kind of coach is more focused on the basic skills and pushes the girls to learn and develop, for the most part is soft spoken but can belt out a yell when necessary to get a girls attention.

The third kind? Old fashioned yelling spit-fire, kick-in-the-ass, we-gotta-win, do your best or you’re sitting the bench kind of coach. These kinds drill the girls, blast them loud and clear when they make a mistake, praise them loudly when they get it right, and REFUSE to accept anything but the best the girls have in them.

While that third kind of coach can at times cause some of the girls to have hurt feelings, sometimes even cry, the consistent application of harsh critique (based on a belief the girl can do SO much better if they try harder) and lavish praise when something is executed exceptionally well has an amazing effect on the girls over time.

Half-way through the season the differences between how the teams play and act starts to become evident, and by the end of the regular season and the start of the tournaments it is out there for everyone to clearly see.

Girls with a Type 1 coach still struggle with basic rules of the game. They don’t really know what to do in complex situations and they often freeze or make irrational moves (like playing first base, getting a grounder and throwing it to home when there’s no one on base). They don’t have much team spirit, they don’t talk much or encourage their teammates, and they seem to not mind losing a game in the slightest. They don’t seem to have much fun after all, and they don’t appear to feel one way or the other about their coach.

Girls with a Type 2 coach are great teams. They work hard, play hard, learn the game and have a bunch of fun playing. They are starting to exhibit some good skills and can often make exceptional plays. They are engaged throughout the game, and are really looking for the win.

Girls with a Type 3 coach are a wonder to watch. They have a blast. They are totally engaged in the game. They are constantly talking to their teammates, encouraging them when they make a mistake, praising them when the make a good play. They move to a rhythm and give everything they’ve got all the time. They no longer cry when the coach yells at them for a bone-headed play. They nod in agreement, recognize their mistake and promise themselves they won’t make the same mistake again. The fear they had for their coach in the first weeks of the season is long gone. Now they love him/her deeply and want to do an excellent job all the time to secure the win- for themselves, for their coach, and for their team.

Interesting to think about how softball coaching and parenting intersect. In either one I am not advocating constant yelling and screaming- by no means. What I love is the focus on learning, getting the basics down pat, focusing on consistency and excellence, and demanding the BEST out of the kids.

It was a good day.






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Facing The Giants

Last night A’s Franklin Girls Softball team played a team from Spring Hill/Heritage.

A is 8 years old and plays in the 7/8 year old girls slow-pitch league. At this age, girls are just starting to understand the game and once in a while a shimmer of future greatness shows itself. In the game right before ours, the pitcher caught a pop-fly, ran to third base and got the runner out that had started off to home plate without tagging-up, and then threw the ball to first base to get the runner there out before she got back- a triple play.

As for hitting, these young girls are slowly developing speed in their swing, and once in awhile are able to manage a double or triple- sometimes a homerun, mainly because the grounder they hit rolls right towards a hole in the defense and continues its journey harmlessly into the outfield while several nearby defenders draw murals in the dirt or watch butterflies.

When A’s team met their opponent last night we all noticed the rather significant difference in size between the two groups of girls. I must admit that my first thought was that the team mom or the head-coach must be slipping steroids into their juice-boxes. These were large, large 7-8 year olds.

It was all fun and games until they started batting. The speeding grounders and line-drives started, and A’s team was stunned. Batter after batter nailed balls so hard that the girls barely had time to respond, and it looked like a shooting gallery. The inevitable happened- one of the girls on the other team, probably twice the height of our smaller girls, hit a line drive 2 feet off the ground right at our pitcher. Little AG didn’t move at all- she had no time. The ball struck her in the thigh with a smack so loud it quieted the stands. The crying began immediately- and so did the 4-inch round bruise- that started blossoming before the coaches got to the field to check on her.

The next inning a line-drive went 2 feet over our pitchers head traveling at about 40MPH, again no response from our pitcher until the ball was well past her. It was a frightening night.

Our team lost. But they lived through it.






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Slaughter On The Softball Field

K is 13 years old and has been playing softball since she was 5 years old. The team she is on- made up of 13 and 14 year old girls, have for the most part been playing about as long, and many of them have played on the same team most of those years.

They are a brutal winning machine. Even the umpires have mentioned that they have never seen such a bunch of girls appear to so effortlessly lay to waste any and all who dare play them.

There are 14 girls on the team. We dont have 1 home-run hitter. We dont even have 2. Or 3. We have like 10.

The first three games this season have all been wins (they have only lost 1 game in the last 3 years) with scores like 25-0, 22-0 and 15-4. It's just amazing to behold.






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Fatigue Fatigue

Microsoft Word thinks I just made a typo. Two of the same words in a row triggers that little squiggly red line under the second word. Nice to have unless you mean to do it. I do.

I’m tired of being tired. Fatigue is a very interesting word. Much more so than ‘tired.’ Tired summons thoughts of old, dated or out of style in addition to just plain tired. Fatigue at least has some style. It gives you the sense that you still have it in you, you’re just in need of rest.

In college I studied brand fatigue. There’s metal fatigue, structure fatigue, and battle fatigue. Also Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Adrenal Fatigue…there’s even fatigues you can wear. Last Saturday I realized I may have parenting fatigue.

I’ve found that I am breaking up my four daughters into two groups- the oldsters (13 and 11 years) and the youngsters (8 and 5 years old). When I think back at all we did with the oldsters it’s kind of amazing. Softball coaching, basketball, ski trips, tons of travel, dance lessons, brownies, American Girl Center in Chicago dressing Bitty Baby dolls, and so much more. As I stood on the softball field during hour 3 this Saturday I started wondering if I had it in me for the youngsters.

This is the 7th year I will coach 5 & 6 year old girls in softball. It used to be exhilarating. Then fun, slipping into enjoyable and last I checked, it moved into bearable. This year it is taking all I have to watch 5 year old girls catching grounders, looking like little kids bowling in reverse. Instead of leaving their hands and traveling towards the pins at .028 MPH, the ball leaves the bat at .028 MPH and travels slowly towards their bent over little stationary bodies with gloves wide open hoping against hope that the ball will change course 45 degrees and magically slide into their gloves. It doesn’t. It stops 8 feet from them and they stare at it perfectly still waiting for it to resume its travels while the batter runs towards the pitchers mound.

I want to be the on-fire dad I was 10 years ago. I want to be that for the youngsters. I want a beer and a nap.






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Take Me Out To The Bawl Park

Tom Hanks may have said there was no crying in baseball in the 1992 film “A League Of Their Own,” but he, nor any other well-known source has ever said there is no crying in softball.

Today, in about 2 hours or so, I will kick off my 9th year as a softball coach for the Girls Softball Association of Franklin. I have only head-coached 3 of those seasons, the rest spent as an assistant coach with much less stress and responsibility. Practice will kick off in about 2 weeks, and with it the tears.

The prompts for those tears will be an assortment of cold weeknight practices, bad bouncing balls that collide with little faces, mounds of dirt that will provide the perfect stumbling block to a girl rounding second, and so on.

This year I will have all four of my girls playing- so four teams, 8 practices a week through mid-April, and then 8 games a week through May. A short season, but many, many hours on the field. As I look back over the previous 8 years I thought I would jot down my top 6 memories (was intended to be 5, but I couldn’t figure out which one below to cut). Hope you enjoy them.

1. Self-Inflicted Wounds. One year I coached a girl, bless her heart, that could not hit the ball if her life depended on it. She was at an age where her teammates had for the most part figured out hitting and would regularly connect with the ball, but this girl just couldn’t get it. It is almost impossible to describe her swing. I was thinking about it for awhile, and the best way I can describe it is that it was like she was chopping wood with an axe, but with some limited forward movement as she did it. Both hands on the bat, chop down as she moved the swing slightly forward, and a slight forward movement again as the bat came back up. Never a hit, never even connection. Until the last couple games of the season. The first time she clipped the ball our crowd of parents about came out of their seats with joy. The next pitch- she put the bat right on the ball. Unfortunately it was as the bat was coming up from its wood chop, and so traveled the very short distance of 6 inches to her face at a good rate of speed. The first time I have ever seen a batter hit themselves in the face with a ball. About 60 parents or so did all they could to feel bad for her injury and stifle laughter at the same time. Her next time up she did it again. And the next. Time for soccer.

2. Casey at Bat. My daughter K, two years ago when she was 11, was on a team that made it to the championship game. It was extremely tense with about 150 people watching the game- 30 or so players and coaches, a huge group of parents and family, and passersby that were pulled in by the immense crowd noise, yelling and screaming. I was an assistant coach on K’s team, and in my usual spot- 3rd base coach- as our team got up for its last at-bat. It was the 9th inning and the game was all but lost. We were behind 9 to 12 and needed 4 runs to win the game. Over the next 20 minutes we managed to get 3 girls on base, and 2 outs along the way. It was pretty much over. Then K got up to bat- it was almost too much to bear. She swung at the first two pitches, and sat out the next 3. It was right out of a movie. 2 outs, full count, 9th inning, and everyone had faces squeezed between chain link face staring at K and screaming their heads off. Michelle actually had to LEAVE because of the pressue. She walked away from the game feeling what K was feeling, right into her heart. The other team was ready to throw hats in the air and run around screaming. Then the pitch. K nailed it, and the sound was glorious. It sailed far into the air, and hit the fence a hundred and fifty feet out. It was just too far away for the outfielder to get to and throw home. K hit a grandslam, scoring 4 points and winning our championship game 13-12.

3. Finders Keepers. After a game a couple seasons ago, my daughter L was walking back from the snack stand and found a wad of cash. No one saw her find it. Without coming to us or asking anybody about it, she walked back to the stand and turned in the almost $200 stash letting them know someone lost in and where she found it. When she came back to where our family was sitting she mentioned the found money. My dad, who often comes to watch games along with my mom, automatically checked his pocket remembering he left his wallet in the car and put his cash in his pocket. He had gone to the snack stand himself minutes before. The cash wasn’t there. We were all amazed, and dad went to the snack stand to claim his money. When he came back he thanked L and gave her a reward- a $1 bill. Our whole family and a few nearby friends erupted in howls and hoots at my dad. A dollar? One lousy dollar? She just got your $200 back! C’mon man! He relented and gave her a twenty.

4. Knock out. One year I coached a young girl that struggled with hitting, but could get a good grounder in once in awhile. We worked with her repeatedly to get the stance and swing down right. She finally proved herself during a game when I was pitching to her. She nailed a line-drive, at about 30MPH or so, straight for my chest. It hit with a thud, and then I hit the ground with a thud falling back from the force and my lame attempt at dodging her best hit ever.

5. Discovery. Last year my daughter L decided she wanted to try pitching. Her first attempts were not very good at all, but she enjoyed the position. I told her that if she wanted to pitch in any games she had to practice on her own to develop control and form. She did it. We rigged a contraption using Styrofoam and a pail that allowed her to try dropping pitches right into the pail, and spend hours upon hours by herself practicing at home. By the end of the season she was one of the best pitchers in the league, and delivered strikeouts every inning she pitched.

6. Crying. In 2004 I head coached the Kid-to-Kid Kubs, a rowdy group of 7 & 8 year olds, and led them to the playoffs. The girls became very close, and loved the time they spent with each other. At our last game, eliminated one game away from the finals, we gathered outside the dugout to say goodbyes. The girls tears flowed, then the weeping began. Then the parents joined in, and finally I broke down.






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