Ruminations on T-Ball Logic

Taking a break from my self-imposed blog exile to comment on the logic of t-ball. My younger son (7) is playing t-ball again this year. It's his third year. Next year he'll be too old. Before that, my older son was in t-ball, so I've had 4 years of experience in t-ball observations.

One thing that's great about baseball is that it's not a game of sheer strength and athletic ability. It also takes brains. You have to think about what should be done next. A pop fly with two outs is NOT the same as a pop fly with zero or one out. There are rules of logic that apply to each circumstance, and part of the game is knowing what your next move will be when the ball comes to you, and when you're running the bases.

Things are different in t-ball. The logic game is played by the coaches. The only thing the little guys and gals need to know is, I have to do whatever my coach yells at me to do. This presents problems when the coaches have conflicting points of view. The game becomes a shouting match of various coaches yelling for the kids to do different things, and the kids look around in bewilderment and just stand there holding the ball while the other team's players round third base for home.

Another thing the coaches must factor in to their yelling is the ability of the players. If the ball is not hit to the pitcher or to the right of the pitcher, forget throwing the ball to first base. Just throw it home and cut your losses. A good play is one in which the ball is not over-thrown. A great play is one in which the ball is not over-thrown and it was thrown to the correct person.

I love watching my boys play ball. It's one of my favorite things to do. But here's something else I've noticed. I need to exercise self-control at these games, at which I am not always succesful. How dumb is it to not only have your coaches yelling what to do, but also your mother. OK, I'm working on it. Mainly I just try to cheer. But my competitive nature (for which I blame my dad) bubbles up sometimes in the form of yelling things like "Go back! Go back!" and "Throw it to third! Throw it to third!" Sometimes I can't help it. But I'm trying. I don't mean to add my loud voice to the chorus of coaches.

Fortunately, I know this personal struggle is not because I'm not nice. I know I'm nice because my husband tells me I am. I return the cart even if there is no cart corral handy, and I don't pass with a vengence (and five dollars worth of gas) when someone cuts me off. I'm a mild-mannered person. All bets are off at the ball field. Don't stand in front of me when my boy's up to bat. You'll be sorry.