Wildcats and Turtles and Disharmonous Harmony

Here we sit at the middle of January, and all that is green is buried in white.

The skies filled with those big grey and purple clouds that hang low packed with snow.

Sometimes it falls. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes I shovel it. Sometimes I wait for next week’s thaw to clear the laneway for me. 

But summer ball is right around the corner.

Yes, it’s a very wide corner still but it’s there on the horizon’s horizon.

This season will be very exciting as both Alannah and Ashley-Rae are playing at even higher levels, both playing on traveling rep teams here in the Windsor area.

But this year they play on different teams under different clubs. Alannah will be playing for a bantam team of girls born in 2001. She is playing for the Wildcats.

Ashley-Rae will be playing for the Squirt team of girls born in 2002. She will still be playing for the Athletics of the Turtle Club, on the same team that Alannah played on last year but is now too old.

While the Wildcats and Turtle Club share a mutual need for diplomatic mutual gain, the fact is these two clubs don’t like each other. And one of her coaches this year coached another team from yet another club Alannah played against last year.

And that club didn’t like the Turtle Club either.

None of these clubs like each other – but years of competition mean that many of these coaches and players have spent time in more than just one of the clubs.

It’s likely very common from community to community, rivalries like these. They are great as long as they don’t get personal.

So far so good.

But it is extremely interesting to me, the observer I seem to have retired to. Seeing both sides, seeing both styles both so completely different despite their undeniable similarity. Like two competing churches each searching for the more perfect doctrine. Both reading from the same book and interpreting the same things differently.

It’s fun.

Ashley-Rae’s team has three of my players from my Gold ’99 team from last summer. Now I’m just a dad but I’m proud of each one of them. Now they join forces with the girls that Alannah left behind.

The other girls from Alannah’s team that moved on because their age moved them up to Bantam now play on the same Wildcat Alannah does. Great kids. Great parents. So I am not so alone now straddling the Wildcat – Turtle Club line. Although the Athletics team parents seem like extended family to me.

The best of the best.

So I am looking forward to watching both teams.

They have both been practicing since the summers end. In different elementary schools in the same way, doing different things looking for the same results.

Both managers are also excellent. One a wily old veteran of the coaching circle – the other a young woman who’s extensive and impressive player career and coaching experience has now culminated to her first  managing position.

I'm very happy that both girls have such great leadership to play for.

Yet so similarly different.

Just like Wildcats and Turtles.

Winning for Losing

Sometimes it's just inevitable.

Sometimes you just can't win for losing.

But, then again, sometimes the line between winning and losing is blurred.

Last night, my little Gold '99 fastpitch team was in the semi-final game to see who would go one to play in the championship game. It was a very close battle.

We were in the top of the final inning, and down by only two with one out and knowing that if we could hold them to a couple of runs, we could come back and win it in our final at bat.

The first out was made at first base, the player picking up a ground ball down first base line and the runner beaten to the bag.

But then with only a runner on second, their team hit a hard ground ball to our third baseman who looked up and saw the runner on second heading to third.

So she ran to third base and touched the bag first.

But she didn't tag the runner.

I know this because I was chatting with the other team's third base coach and was standing only a couple feet away, watching intently.

"OUT" screamed the umpire – all of fifteen years old – from left field.

There was no way he saw the play.

"She didn't tag her" screamed the fans from the opposing team's bleachers.

They were right.

With my scorebook in hand, I trotted out to left field. And I explained to the umpire that this was not a force play at third.

"But she tagged her", he said – while the fans of the other team were screaming the same thing at the fifteen year old Umpire.

"No she didn't. She didn't even make the attempt to tag her".

That was my fault. I didn't teach my young third-baseman well enough.

I waved to the other team to bring the runner back to third.

That runner scored on the next play when we achieved another out at first on the next batter.

That would have been three outs right there.

And the rest of the inning was a comedy of errors by my infield.

Balls thrown over the first basemen's head, dropped catches on pop-ups. And a dropped ball at first.

My closing pitcher, who I adore as a person – who always gets the job done – then had a hard time finding the strike zone. After eight runs I switched pitchers – even though this admirable young girl had done so such a great job to that point. As I pointed to my little centerfielder to replace her on the mound, my admirable young closer's face started to crumble under the emotion.

And my heart sunk into my stomach for doing that to her.

My next little pitcher came out to warm up – while my admirable young closer walked out to center field. The whole team except for the catcher went out to centerfield with her. And while my next little pitcher threw her practice pitches – the rest of my team consoled my admirable young closer – apologizing for their mistakes – and telling her how great she was – and telling her jokes until she finally laughed.

My next little pitcher struck their batter out with three pitches to finally end the inning.

And we couldn't make up the ten run deficit in our final at bat.

In the huddle after the game where the girls sit on the grass in left field while I stand and talk about the game, I explained to the team what happened at third base. And why I called back the other base runner to third and gave the other team back the second out.

"We don't want to win that way, do we?" I asked.

The girls all said nothing. But they all shook their heads no in agreement.

"You don't want to hear all your friends from the other team tell you we won by cheating or by a really bad call by the umpire, do you?"

"No way coach!" replied my sturdy catcher who is the oldest on the team, a fantastic leader on the squad and top in her class at school.

And the others all chimed in as well muttering "Nope" and "Uh. Uh".

"And we still won the regular season, right?" I continued. "We know in our hearts we are the best team, right?"

"Right", the all replied.

"Sometimes girls you just have to do what's right, even though it's not in favor", I said. "And that, I really believe was the right thing to do".

I doubt the other team really thought much about the out we gave back.

And I doubt very much that our sense of right and fair play will go down in Turtle Club lore – in fact the other coaches would likely think me nuts for not taking advantage of a really bad call by the Umpire in left field.

But all the girls on my little Gold '99 team will remember it. And as the pain of losing washes away as it always does quickly with kids, I think as they grow up, they will remember that call, and that decision, and be proud.

And I think they already feel like winners.

Even though we lost the game, we won.

Perhaps sometimes you can win for losing.

Because sometimes the line between winning and losing gets blurred.

But I sure will miss my little team of Gold '99s.

My Turtle Club Gold ‘99s

It's July 1^st – Canada Day to us Canukians.

A cool morning with the sun hidden above a thick layer of cloud that is spitting fine droplets of rain as my faithful black lab Suzy and I sit on the back deck this morning.

The hot summers of years before do not seem to be the plan so far this year. Instead today it feels more like May.

I am pouring over the spreadsheet that is my roster and line up for my Turtle Club house league fast pitch softball team of twelve girls aged from ten to fourteen years old. I'm looking over the combinations of our players for innings one through five, who works best with whom in which of the nine available positions, and the order they will bat in.

You might think that having a team of girls with such a broad age range is too much. That the older girls play too hard – to fast – for the younger ones. I know I did when this season started.

But I was wrong. Dead wrong.

The older girls, at least on my team, are all mentors to their younger team mates. And the younger girls have learned so much more this season than they would have simply by playing against teams exactly their age.

The younger girls' skills have risen so much faster. And the older girls still continue to improve.

The older girls, almost young women about to enter high school either this year or the next have all been fantastic role models.

I am so proud of each and every one of them that I cannot tell you in words.

My best pitchers come from both the older and younger girls alike. And the older girls give the younger ones tips and tricks.

And while our little league has only four teams in total, the talent appears to be pretty evenly spread across the pool the players. And we still play under the rules that all girls must bat in a game, and all girls must play both infield and outfield in a game – and all girls must get a chance at pitching – a very hard skill indeed to hurl a yellow eleven inch leather sphere bound in red threading with a cork center as fast as they can underhanded consistently in a strike zone that changes as the size of the girls change.

But all my girls are up for the challenge – eager for their next opportunity to stand at the center of the diamond and do their best to throw strikes across the plate thirty five feet away.

It's so much fun to be a part of a team that is stepping up to each challenge as well as my little team has done. We are turning double plays, and making the throws from third to first to get the fastest of base runners.

Our team is in first place so far with a third of the season left to play. And I do admit that while the premise of house league play is to be fun, with winning being a secondary, perhaps a tertiary thought to skill improvement and a love for the game, I always tell my girls that while winning isn't everything, it is funner than losing.

They seem to like that mindset.

And when we do lose, they do not like it.

We live in a very competitive world, shrinking day by day as our technologies make our experience on this planet one of a global community. It's not a place where an indifference to winning will help you succeed.

There are no participation trophies given in life. You have to get them and earn them. There are no rewards for simply showing up. And that is what sports can teach our children, if we use the metaphor correctly. Honor and integrity and fair play and justice must all be equal key ingredients for this magic potion to really teach our kids the lessons they so desperately need to learn.

No video game console invented yet can replace sports for teaching our kids true competitive drive. And no game where there are no losers and there are no winners – can help our kids evolve into the kind of kids that help keep our community, our society strong. But it has to be an equal mix of all.

There is no social network they can belong to online – chatting to the world that is more influential than that of a ball diamond dugout – when the team is down by four runs and you need a rally – and the cheers the girls sing together for their team mate at the plate gets louder … and more inspiration.

And you have to learn how to take the unfair with a smile that only makes you try harder the next time. You can't blame the umpire because they made a bad call. You can't say the other team got lucky on a fantastic catch.

I guess that's what I love about all these girls the most. They already seem to know this. And they all want to strive to be better. They are not looking for handouts, or easy solutions. Instead each time they step up to the plate – they want to drive that ball into the center field gap for a double or a triple or even a home run. Each time that ball is hit to them, they don't step out of the way in fear, hoping someone else behind them will make the play. No, instead they charge the ball and take ownership of the opportunity to get the out. And if they bobble it, they fight harder to get it back and still attempt the play.

They don't give up.

And when they step up to the challenge, our whole team is on their feet to congratulate them – to make them feel as special as they deserve to feel at that moment. And then that moment is over and the next challenge is faced.

And when they make a mistake – or they don't do as well as they think they could do, there is no blame chided by their team mates. Instead the whole team is there to tell them …
"it's alright, it's okay we still love you anyway!"

I think that's my favorite cheer of them all.

There is not a kid on this team that I am not incredibly proud of. And while I and my two fantastic coaches might have taught them just a little teeny bit about playing softball, they in return teach me so much more.

Our little Gold '99 team is a fantastic group to be a part of this year. And I am so happy that I and my youngest daughter Ashley-Rae – only ten herself – have had the opportunity to share this experience with them together.

"Hey one-zero, come be my hero, and hit the ball, over the wall"
"Seven seven, hit it up to heaven"

I love those sing-song cheers.

And to all the parents of these exceptional young ladies I have the privilege to manage, I sincerely want to thank each and every one of you for the outstanding job you have done so far.

Because I'm here to tell you it's not easy raising kids today.

But I think these girls are all the cream of the crop.

I can hardly wait for our game tonight against that dastardly Red team. To watch these girls go out there and try their best. And while I hope we win, I know there is a another great lesson out there just waiting to be learned.

What a great way to spend a July First Canada Day.

I just hope it doesn't rain.

Our Boys of Summer Play On

The first half of October is a visual smorgasbord here in southwestern Ontario.

The reds, the golds, the browns …

The frost …

The end .,,

Still there are remnants of summer past left lying around … the ball diamonds still have players practicing, the decks all still have tables with umbrellas unfurled, the sun still feels warm to the skin as it reaches its daily apex.

But soon those summer artifacts will all be packed up as though raked into piles like the brilliantly covered leaves that could no longer cling to their branches.

Thank god there's still ball.

The young ladies of the Turtle Club Athletics team continue to practice outside as long as the precipitation stays away and the temperature stays warmish. Once that evacuates to make way for the undeniable oncoming of winter – the young players and their coaches will move into a gym at a French school on the other side of our little village.

The Detroit Tigers are still contending in post season baseball – having defeated the last-minute winners of the American League West – the Oakland A’s – who wear the uniform that inspired our Lady Athletics from the Turtle Club copied and turned into girlie versions of green with gold trim.

I much prefer the old Turtle Club logo. As silly as some may think a turtle could be to represent a high quality baseball team – it means the world to us with its legacy behind it.

But now they wear the same cursive styled spelling of Athletics that the dastardly Oakland Centerfielder Coco Crisp wears.

As a Tiger fan, I despise Coco Crisp.

Crisp (whose name likely violates Nestle Copyright and Trademark rights) single handedly kept the Athletics of Oakland in this series with jump catches robbing home runs and base hits that drove in tying and winning runs and base stealing’s to move into position to score and cause various accounts of trouble that base runners distract middle relief and closing pitchers with.

Crisp got into the Tiger’s players heads.

And their fans too.

But the Tigers rendered the Oakland A’s - seemingly a team of destiny – to merely another remnant, another artifact of autumns transition to winter.

Most have a favorite sport. Mine is baseball. My daughter’s is fast pitch softball. I talk about the two as though they are the same.

But ball is so unique – no other game is like it – not even Cricket.

No other sport is so North American – even though it’s played seriously and elegantly as far away as Japan.

The smell of the red-clay dirt of the infield as the leather bound and red thread stitched ball bounces through the freshly cut grass of the infield – into the thick padded leather glove – and the throwing hand reaches inside that glove to grasp the ball and hurl it across the infield to first base – mastering the balancing challenges of a bent over runner reaching, clasping, grasping, and then planting and throwing.

And the outstretched gloved hand of the first baseman straining to meet the ball in flight before the runner who hit the ball travels at their fastest sprint up the first baseline to stomp on first base.

Safe? Or Out?

The question answered throughout the course of the game.

Where is the next play to be?


Ashley-Rae (with Rally Towel

waving in my face)

and I at ALDS Game 2 vs, Oakland

 As I sat in the stands with my ten year old daughter Ashley-Rae, watching the second playoff game between my beloved Tigers and those bastardly A’s – I continually challenged her with that question – pointing to the situation on the field.

“So Ash, they got a man on second – Coco Crisp - and one out – what does Miguel Cabrera do if they hit the ball to him at third”

Ashley looked at the field as though it were a math problem and solved almost like pretending to write with chalk on a chalkboard.

“You check the runner at second to hold him then you throw it with all you got to first, and you can’t throw a big loopy throw, you gotta throw it hard so it gets there fast Daddy”, replied Ashley-Rae.

We punched fists in celebration of her correct answer. Then she adjusted the brim of her Turtle Club All Star team hat with the same greens and golds as the Athletics A’s hats – only her hat has a gold TC instead of an A.

I love that hat.

And she was wearing her Justin Verlander fan t-shirt over a sweatshirt.

My girls understand baseball.

Maybe they don’t understand everything totally yet, like the infield fly rule. But apparently even some post season National League umpires don’t exactly understand the complexities of the infield fly rule either – having cost the Atlanta Braves their post season chances in a single game wild card elimination match against St. Louis.

I hate the St. Louis Cardinals too.

Now as we move into the third week of October, and the playoff contenders dropping off at the same rate as the leaves from Windsor trees, our beloved Tigers pick up the American League Championship Series – the ALCS – against the even more dastardly – even more bastardly New York Yankees – led by my favorite short stop who I cannot stand – Derek Jeeter and their former Tiger center fielder Curtis Granderson.

Our pitching army of Verlander, Fister, and Scherzer, with a side of Sanchez will do their best to stifle the bats of the Big Apple pin-stripers. And the clout of Triple Crown winner Cabrera, 1st baseman Fielder, and a slew of other guys on this squad who can easily run into a home run now and then – they will do their best outpace the Yankee hitters through nine innings.

And whoever wins gets to play in the World Series.

And whoever loses – their boys of summer will fall into winter like the umbrella on my back deck that still needs to be furled up and put up in the rafters of the garage.

Ready for next year.

Playing Ball With The Brill Girls

We've had a busy summer so far this year.

Lots of swimming in the pool – even though I nearly blew our water pump out by running it for a day with the hose valves closed after backwashing.

I finally finished my book – although I am still in proofreading mode though – but I am extremely happy with it and anxious to get some guest readers looking at it.

But best of all – miles better than anything else this summer – has been watching Alannah and Ashley Rae play fast pitch softball for the Turtle Club this year.

Alannah had practiced year around this year as a member of the LaSalle Athletics Under 11 team. Ashley had to miss those tryouts as she had sprained her knee. So Ashley spent the off season watching Alannah – and learning from Alannah.

It really paid off this year!

The season started by the girls playing together on a house league team that I was lucky enough to help coach.

Actually the director of the league basically told me I was going to help coach – there really wasn't any room for negotiation.

And it was great! I got to stand in the dugout or out coaching first base with a pocket full of sunflower seeds – spitting shells and yelling things like "where's the next play?" and "good eye" and "Atta-girl!" and giving high fives and punching knuckles.

I had to stop calling the girls darlin' though. That was part of the left over southerner in me – and Coach Joe, who was the head coach of the team let me know in a kidding way that we can't call the girls darlin' anymore. Coach Joe coaches for a living. So I stopped.

I guess it's just another of the million zillion signs that our world is changing.

Now house league is over – and both my girls – Alannah and Ashley Rae – made the Turtle Club All Star team. And Coach Joe is coaching them – along with Coach Larry and Coach Gay – all three excellent fantastic coaches who have been practicing the girls from 9 – 11 AM most every other weekday mornings this whole summer.

So every other morning, Alannah and Ashley-Rae pack up their wagon and the pull it and each other to and from practice. The coaches tell me it's a pretty cute sight to see. I'm usually at the office wishing I could be there to watch.

I'm so jealous.

But I hear all about it. When I come home from work, and have a seat out on the back patio by the pool with a cold drink. The girls tell me all about all that happened at practice that morning , with injections of "shut up I'm telling this part" and "I wanted to tell him I did that".

My girls love ball!

And the Brill Girls are just now starting to make their mark at the Turtle Club.

"Dad, I hate it when you call us that", says Alannah when I refer to her and Ashley-Rae as the Brill Girls.

"But your Grandpa Brill would be so proud" I tell her.

Alannah hugs my neck and kisses my cheek when I tell her that.

"Oh, you always say that", she replies.

Cheers or Jeers?

My girls are playing a lot of softball this year.


Fast pitch – with base runners that steal second and third – and line drives and double plays – and some really good pitching.

It’s good stuff.

It’s finally their first year of real ball.

And my girls seem to be catching on nicely.

But they still have that age old problem of keeping their head in the game?

Young minds wander, I guess.

But how do you snap them out of it?

It’s so easy to stand in left center field with your hands on your hip and your glove by your side wondering what Justin Bieber is up to, or what you should wear to the sleep over the next night.

I’m talking about my daughters now, not myself.

Just to be clear.

But both girls have stepped up their play considerably this year. Ashley cracked one all the way to the fence that drove in two runs in a close game – and Alannah continues to surprise everyone as she continues to be in the right place at the right time to make a big play.

And Alannah has also shown herself to be a pretty good pitcher.

But they both still slip into that la la land mindspace when in the field during a game.

And then there are the dugout cheers.

Girl’s softball is full of cheers – coming from the dugout. Very long cheers that are almost complete songs – and our team seems to sing them the loudest …

“She stole on you, she stole on you
While you were picking your nose, she was hot on her toes, and she stole on you
What a disgrace …. Right in your face .,.. yeah she stole on you ….”

I don’t care for that one much. But the other teams sing it to.

They must put out a CD or a song-sheet of girl’s fast-pitch dugout cheers because no matter where we go play – both sides are singing the same things. And there are enough of these chants to last an entire six inning game.

It doesn’t seem very sportsman-like, does it?

I’m all for rooting on your players – but these chants cross a lot lines to many in the sportsmanship category.

But then girl’s fast-pitch does seem to bring out the wannabe future pop-stars in these girls.

Sometimes I hear my girls singing these chants around the house, and I interrupt them and say “that doesn’t sound very nice”.

“It’s softball Dad! You’re not s’posed to be nice”, replies which ever daughter I interrupt.

“Nice, no … but calling the other team a disgrace doesn’t sound good. In fact it would just tick them off, donchathink?”

“So?”

“So they will try harder”

“So?”

“So if you tick them off and they try harder and they beat you, you look stupid”

“Every team does it, Dad”

“The Tigers don’t do it”

“They’re boys, Dad. This is girls’ softball”, they reply.

Thank goodness they don’t sing these in the big leagues. Could you imagine if the pros sang chants in the dugout during a pennant race?

“Hey there hey there number four, you say you don’t use roids no more
But I just saw your trainer stick – a needle in your butt real quick …”

True, boys don’t do it. Boys go out and show you. They don’t chide you in a sing-song format – they just whisper it in your ear when standing on first – or at the plate. Perhaps this is a difference between boys and girls?

This year Alannah made the All-Star B-Team for Turtle Club. There are three tournaments coming up in July, one out of town I believe – that she gets to play in. I’m very happy for her because she wanted this so bad, and I know that making such a team will take her to the next level of play – just from the experience of playing against real quality teams.

I hope she pays attention.

I know she will be leading the cheer chants from the dugout.

I’m certain they’ll be chanting from the same chant-book. All the old familiar ones.

But what do these chants say about sportsmanship to little girls? I think it says it doesn’t matter. And I don’t like that very much.

After all, they will all be wearing the big Turtle Club TC on their hats – and their green and yellow uniforms will say Turtle Club across the fronts. And their names will be on their backs.

And they will be singing about disgraced nose picking catchers when they steal a base.

Look, I am all for teaching kids to have a competitive spirit in sports and play to win and not get a trophy or ribbon just for showing up, I really truly am.

“Hey number seven, I like your sox. I’d like to get some, do you still have the box?”

No, that’s not what I’m talking about at all.

Girls, cheer your team on. Root for them with all the air in your lungs – but there is nothing to be gained by belittling the other team while you do so. Plain and simple – it’s just wrong – and it teaches everything I try to teach my own girls not to do. It undoes what I do.

You might as well just chant:

“Hey number six, we think you suck. When I hit it at you, you better duck”.

Good grief.

A Championship Season

Summer officially arrived in the opening minutes of this fine Monday morning.

So I am taking the day off work in remembrance.

Although I must say it has felt like summer here where I live for the last month or so.

The barbecue has been going full blast since the last week of May.

The pool has been opened and in full use since the last week of May.

The baseball has been fast and furious now for several months.

And yesterday was the last day of Turtle Club little league t-ball baseball.

I guess they never heard the expression "boys of summer".

And yesterday – my little girls of summer – along with their other ten team mates – won their league championship.

The "Speedy Pinkies" win the 2010 Turtle Club League Championship for Senior Girls T-Ball
bottom (left to right) Kayla, Avery, Alannah, and Olivia
top (left to right)  Ashley-Rae, Breanna, Jordan, Kaitlin and Emily.

Both my daughters – Alannah and Ashley-Rae – played for the pink team – sponsored by a local Doctor Mary Buchanan – her name taking up two lines on the back of their shirts above the number. The classic Turtle Club logo across the front in black.

And the Brill Girls contributed their share of offense and defense in route to this championship. Of course I am a proud papa – so take my praise of their play with a grain of salt if you wish to.

I wouldn't blame you.

Who knew T-ball could be so exciting?

I guess you had to be there.

But there is a thrill to watching a child stand at the plate – bat in hand – lining it up with the ball – the bat a bit to heavy – the ball a bit to high – and the first couple of attempts resulting in a teeth tingling clank as the metal tee is knocked out from under the ball by the aluminum bat – only on the third try to see the youngster connect with the ball and send a line drive through the gap that results in the runner on second coming home to score the go-ahead run.

And there is a thrill to watching young children just learning how to field a ground ball cleanly and throw it on an arch to first – then to see the young first baseman extend their glove in a self defense motion – head leaned back out of the way with eyes half shut in anticipation of the ensuing pain they are expecting – only to see the surprise and victory on their faces when they realize the ball trapped itself neatly inside their little glove – with secondary care as to whether the little batter beat the throw to first base or not – the play was successfully completed!

It's surprisingly exciting – and even more so rewarding when it's your own child now catching and throwing with proficiency – after spending hours in the back yard tossing pop flies and ground balls to them – helping them learn the right way to hold their glove when a ball is above their shoulders or below – and insisting their throws be aimed at your chest.

The hardest part of the skill of catching a baseball to teach a young child – younger than the age of ten – is to not catch every ball with the glove pointing at the ground – how the glove is really an extension of their hand – and is something you wear – not that you hold onto in hopes that a ball will fall into it – you have to reach out to the ball flying in the air and snag it in your webbing – instead of hoping it will merely hit the mitt's webbing and lodge itself there for you.

Then there are the rules of the game – not all of which are learned in t-ball.

Rules like you have to tag the runner when there is no force at the base you are playing – and what scenarios constitutes a force out. Try explaining to a little catcher that they have to tag the runner at home because while there are runners at second and third – first base sits empty because the last play got the runner at first.

Rules like the batter is automatically out if you catch their batted ball in the air – before it touches the ground – and if the runners on base go to the next base, you can throw to the base they just ran from and force them out because the runner never tagged up.

In yesterday's game such a play did occur – the ball hit on a line at the pitcher – who in self defense held up their glove in protection – only to find it lodged in the gloves webbing – and the stands full of over-anxious parents screaming "throw it to first!" – which she did – and the first baseman indeed caught her throw – doubling up the little runner who did not understand she could not run.

In the dugout my youngest daughter said to the coach "my daddy says that's called a dubba play", to which the motherly coach smiled and said "your daddy's right, Ashley-Rae".

That made my day.

My Father's Day.

The little team of twelve little girls ages seven and eight – sporting pink jerseys and black shorts – sang chants from the dugout like "fans fans in the stands, when you gonna clap your hands?" and other sing song works of poetry worthy of a boot camp marching cadence caller.

Every parent in the stands rooting for every little girl on the field. But rooting just a little louder for their own little girl – and hollering instructions from behind the backstop as each comes to the plate.

"back up a bit"

"watch the ball"

"swing hard"

"straight through"

All while the coach at first or third base is pantomiming a swing – pretending to hold an imaginary bat – showing the movement they want the youngster to mimic at the plate.

Clink – as the tee falls to the ground and the ball falling as well.

Swoosh – as the bat swings over the ball – over compensating for the previously missed attempt – the young batters body uncoiling to the point near falling down.

Crack – as the bat meets the ball

Hooray! - as the fans explode in the celebration of the youngster's success

"Throw it to second!" – as the other team's fans instruct the little fielder where to throw the ball

And the resulting mix of cheers and groans as the play is either successfully completed with the runner out or the play fumbled and the runner found to be safe.

It's really quite magical.

But their favorite part is after the game – when they gather in a corner of the outfield – each team in their own corner – and the coolers containing the after game snacks come out – juice boxes or freezy pops and granola bars passed out – and they sit in the corner and share the experience of the game – and how fun it was – and how good they played – like a bunch of adults playing beer league softball sitting around a pitcher of draft beer in a pub after the Tuesday night league game.

But yesterday's game also included trophies – each little team lined up along the first and third baselines – names announced over the loudspeaker – and the awards distributed proudly to each little girl who ran up to take theirs – holding them up for the world to see – for the world to acknowledge them.

Acknowledge them as champions.

And then they had freezy pops.

Dreaming Of Baseball Past And Watching Baseball’s Future

I had a birthday this last week.

I'm not one much for birthdays, especially now that I am drawing so close to the age of fifty.

Nearly half a century.

How the hell did that happen?

I can still find comfort in the fact that I am not fifty yet.

I still feel like I am twenty six.

At least my mind thinks my body is still twenty six.

Last night I had a dream that I was playing baseball.

I was the shortstop.

With a man on third and only one out in a tied game - a pop fly was hit over my head.

A Texas leaguer. A high blooper destined to fall in that no man zone in left center field - too shallow for the outfielder to catch. A dying quail.

It was up to me.

I turned my body to sprint out under the ball – my eyes never losing sight of that red threaded white orb that hung in the air for what seemed like minutes as I stayed underneath it in full sprint.

A smooth gaited sprint as I floated over the ground.

It was going to fall just out of reach, but I extended my glove as far back as I could reach … and nabbed it in the webbing of the mitt.

"Got it!"

The man on third took off for home – tagging up to score the winning run. But my body was still moving to the outfield.

I ducked my shoulder and rolled on the ground to stop – the momentum of the roll brought me back to my feet, my back foot planted as I threw the ball on a rope to the catcher poised at the plate waiting for my throw – and I hit the center of that catcher's mitt – just in time for him to tag the barreling runner out – as the runner slammed into the catcher they both went flying.

The umpire waited for the dust to clear – the catcher had the ball – raised in the air in his mitt.

"OUT!" screamed the imaginary man in black. His fist pumped back with his thumb extended into the air.

I woke up just as my imaginary team mates were high fiving me and patting me on the back for the highlight reel worthy play.

A wonderful dream. A great game. "When was I up? I bet I can hit this imaginary pitcher I haven't seen yet".

"Maybe I'm on deck?"

One voice in the stands was louder than the others. A familiar voice that sounded as excited as I was at that moment … "who is that?"

"Daddy!", screamed Ashley-Rae – quite real and standing in the middle of our bedroom. "You gotta get up, we got our first game this morning!"

Now it's my girl's turn to make the plays I can only dream about making again.

And this year both my daughters are on the same team, much to my eldest – Alannah's – chagrin. Ashley-Rae moved up to Alannah's league this year.

And after three years playing Turtle Club softball, they love it even more.

What more could I ask for?

Yesterday was opening day at the Turtle Club. A big parade marched all the teams that the Turtle Club fields through our little town of Lasalle. Fire trucks and sirens – people lining the streets to wave at the kids marching in their various uniforms of greens and yellows – marching behind the banners of their leagues – with the Turtle Club mascot "Sam" (I think) a huge green turtle version of the San Diego Chicken marching along waving to everyone and holding the hands of various little players along the way.

The Turtle Club is a great organization.

At the club, all the teams gathered on the center showcase diamond - # 1 – lining the infield base bath. Select players held the flags of our country, our province, our city and our club. There were banners showing the major accomplishments of last season proudly carried by the players who earned them.

Provincial, and federal representatives of government were all there for face time … "I bring greetings from our honorable Prime Minister …" said our local Member of Parliament Jeff Watson.

But after all that nonsense was done – the leaders of Turtle Club turned their attention to the great awards of the teams from last year.

The most notable was the award to one of the boy's baseball teams – who won the Ontario Championships last year, and made it to the final game of the Canadian championships … three outs away from going to the Little League World Series in Williamsport Pennsylvania.

So close.

So great.

And the signs around the Turtle Club line the buildings and fences – listing the numerous teams of each season – for decades past – fifty two years of legacy – denoting the players on teams who won district, provincial, and national championships. So many of these placards of honors that finding a place for this year's addition will be difficult.

And there with their team at the short stop position on the infield – stood my little girls – watching but not completely understanding the immenseness of this legacy being presented before them. But looking poised – waiting for their turn to achieve great things for the Turtle Club … when their turn comes.

Ashley-Rae's shout brought me out of my dream and back into that half-wake understanding of reality.

"Okay", I said almost cheerily.

I lifted my knees in the air – rolled to the edge of the bed and sprang out on my feet with a perfect landing that even a Russian gymnastics judge would have given me a perfect ten.

"I still got it", I thought to myself.

When we arrived at the ball park – the grounds were empty. Not a soul was there.

And it was wet.

I hadn't noticed until that moment that there must have been a big rainstorm last night.

I pulled out my iPhone and looked at the Turtle Club web page. There in big green print sat our answer to the question "where is everybody?"

"PARK IS CLOSED – DUE TO RAIN"

The girls were looking over my shoulder from the back seat of the jeep.

"That sucks", said Ashley-Rae.

"Don't say that", I corrected her.

Alannah sobbed: "But I was really looking forward to this game".

I turned the jeep around and headed back around the corner to our house.

Ashley-Rae was right.

That sucked.

And it makes me feel so proud that they both wanted to play so badly.

Turtle Club Baseball Is Back

Baseball started today.

The Turtle Club in LaSalle, Ontario started their winter clinics.

The Turtle Club has a great little setup in a gymnasium down the street from the famed Essex Golf and Country Club. There are five little workstations for throwing, ground ball and pop fly practice, and two batting stations.

Each of the thirty little girls in our session was eager to be there.

Faces smiling.

Trying hard.

And no one complaining to go home.

Baseballs bouncing on a gymnasium floor. Coaches standing with the kids helping them get their fingers right on the ball, stepping through to get leverage on the ball. Elbows raised and hands positioned on the handle of the bat to strike the waffle ball on the tee with force.

Balls bouncing off of heads in the pop fly station.

Balls being whipped at coaches in ground ball station.

It's wonderful.

In an icy cold January like this one, I need any hint of summer that I can get.

Sure, there is no smell of fresh cut diamond grass, or no red clay, or the chalk of the baselines yet.

Not yet.

But there is baseball, and baseball is alive in the hearts of my girls.

Alannah and Ashley-Rae did well. I was happy with how hard they were trying – and in how fgood they were doing. They were paying attention – not spinning around while waiting their turn – doing dance moves and chatting and giggling with their friends.

They cared.

That's all I can possibly ask.

You can't make a kid like baseball. They either like it or they don't.

And at least for this first practice, they liked baseball.

I know some of you may wonder why this means so much to me. But it does.

The Turtle Club is a fantastic organization, their facilities are just around the corner from our house, and most times when we go someplace, we drive right by it. And when we do we look down the laneway as we pass and we all remember how pretty it is there in the spring and summer – the green white and yellow colors of the parks and clubhouse – the old fashioned white scoreboards with numbers hung by hand in the squares.

The history there is grand. National titles and trips to the Little League World Series by Turtle Club teams.

It means something.

I want my daughters to grow up being a part of the Turtle Club. To have the experience with them of being a part of such an organization while they grow up. To contribute to such an organization – to care about something and give back to it.

To learn sportsmanship and team work.

And maybe even learn some leadership skills – if the opportunities present themselves.

Opportunities always present themselves.

Last year I took a stab at becoming a Turtle Club coach. But they didn't seem to think my application and references were up to their standards. And that was ok. So I helped out where I could.

But this isn't about me. I'm happy to assist however they ask me to.

So here we sit on the last day of January – the first day of Turtle Club baseball. And I am so delighted that it started on such a fantastic note.

Most other little kids in Canada right now are wrapped up in hockey or ringette right now. Both are fantastic sports in their own rite. Both teach the exact same things – but in different ways.

But to me there is something special about baseball, and what it can offer a little kid. And what a little kid can learn from learning such a diverse set of skills.

So for this moment I am savoring how positive 2010 baseball started out this morning.

And I think the best is yet to come.

Suddenly January doesn't feel so cold anymore.

Suddenly spring doesn't feel so far away.

The Turtle Club is playing baseball again.

Even if it is inside a gymnasium.

Almost Time for the Boys - and Girls - of Summer

Summer can't be too far off in the future.

We are already talking baseball, so summer must be close at hand.

Yes, I know we are still two months shy of spring.

Saturday, I took my two little girls Alannah and Ashley-Rae to the infamous Turtle Club clubhouse to register for the 2009 season.

Alannah is excited for ball this year. "This year I get to hit from a pitching machine", she explained. Rookie ball starts the season hitting off a tee, then progresses during the season to taking pitches from a pitching machine.

Ashley-Rae just yawned.

Ashley showed little or no interest in playing ball last year. Her only interest lay in "when do we get juice boxes and hot dogs", and "can we play in the park after the game". Although she did become fairly adept at catching her ball glove in her cap last year.

So when I announced this year that Alannah would play ball and Ashley-Rae would instead try her hand at gymnastics or dance – I was stunned at her response. She cried and cried and demanded that she wanted to play ball too.

So Ashley-Rae is playing Jr. T-Ball.

I expect that during this week, we will get a call or email from each of the girl's new coaches to explain that Winter Clinic's - which take place in the gym of a local elementary school - will be starting in a week or two.

So baseball is practically here.

And then there is the Detroit Tigers. The object of my affection and attention from February spring training until hopefully the first week of November.

Saturday they held Tiger Fest at Comerica Park. I didn't go (although I would have loved to) because I had to sign the girls up for Turtle Club baseball.

Tiger Fest sold out. A new closing pitcher was announced. Old and new faces spoke about what happened last year – a dismal last place showing when they were supposed to break all kinds of records on their way to the World Series ; and what is expected this year – a strong team with slight re-arrangement, who hopefully will rebound – led by the recharged starting pitcher Justin Verlander – to a team in contention for the post season this year.

How will 2009 pan out for the Tigers?

Personally, I think they could be anywhere between great and awful.

It all depends on how they come out of the gate this year. Last year they started the season by losing their first seven games.

It depends on the starting pitching returning back to the form of 2006 and 2007.

It depends most of all the ability for the bullpen to close out the later innings and shut the door on the opposition in the ninth.

It all depends on who stays healthy.

It all depends on whether bats heat up.

It depends.

But if there is one thing positive a summer-loving person like me can possibly say about January, it is that in January there is always hope. This year is still next year.

And I can't wait for next year to get here.

Those bums can't play any worse than they did in 2008.

I would say that the Tigers making the post-season is as likely as Ashley-Rae really enjoying Jr. T-Ball.

It's not likely, but I would sure be thrilled if it happened.

The Last Day of Turtles

After six months of Saturday and Sunday practices in a gymnasium, with outdoor practices and then games taking place on the infamous Turtle Club ball diamonds; today was the wrap up of both Alannah's Red Timbits T-Ball team, and Ashley-Rae's Green McDonalds Blast-Ball team games.

The season ended today with the Turtles Club annual Tournament of Champions.

The progress made by Alannah's T-Ball team since those first days of gymnasium clinics has been pretty astounding. Remember that explaining baseball to a child for the first time is a huge educational task. The game is not easy to figure out until it has been instilled as a part of personal experience.

Now, after six months of dedicated coaching by persons I can only describe as Saints of Patience, not only do the girls know how to throw a ball, catch another player's throw, field a ground ball, and hit the ball off the tee to a target area where the opposition has left a gap in their coverage – but they now even know where the next play is to be made – and what their role in that play is. Each infielder covers their base. Outs made by infielders throwing the hitter out at first are common.

It's an incredible example of progress and player development.

The fifty year old Turtle Club's facilities are exceptional. Six quality diamonds, each perfectly fenced with nice dugouts and groomed with perfectly cut grass, orange clay dirt with perfectly straight white chalk lines defining the boundaries of each field. Bleachers that change from shade to sun found on each side of each diamond make watching a game a pleasure. And three parking lots intertwined through the facilities accommodate the traffic of the busiest game days.

Like this weekend's Tournament of Champions.

Between games, Alannah and I would go watch the big girls play fast pitch softball. Today the Turtle Club's under-seventeen girls travelling team was playing a Michigan clubs traveling team. The flags of each country were proudly stretched across the back of each team's dugout. The pitchers of both teams wind-milling their underhand pitches at speeds comparable to boys overhand pitching.

Alannah and I sat and watched three innings of this game – sitting in the shade of the bleachers. Watching the girls hit line drives, steal bases, and turn double plays.

"This is the kind of ball you will play when you get older, Alannah." , I said to my eldest daughter as she watched the big girls with wide eyed amazement.

The announcer on the PA speakers announced the next batter. Her name was Alannah. Alannah looked at me with her mouth wide open. Then she sat and watched the older Canadian Alannah drill a line drive into left center field, through a gap, for a stand up triple, and driving in two runs.

Alannah stood up and clapped real loud for her older namesake.

"Dad, do you think I will be that good?", asked Alannah.

"If you practice real hard and try your best, I bet you could, Alannah", I answered. "You might even play on this team."

"Wow – that would be sooo cool."

"Yes, Alannah. Yes it would".

So now that the season is over, and the girls have their participant trophies, I find myself sad that the 2008 season is over. I will admit that in mid March – after two months of 9:00 AM Saturday and Sunday gymnasium practices, I was ready for this day to come a quarter of a year ago. But now it is over. And Alannah has grown to become a ball player. Perhaps not a great player, or maybe not even good yet, depending on your criteria for judgment. But a ball player is a ball player.

And ball players are my favorite kind of people.

Now I fully recognize that things may change in Alannah's mind as the next six months unfold. But I hope some of her accomplishments, achievements, and the things she saw the big girls do will stay with her and she will still want to be a ball player again next year.

And if she does, there is no better place to play ball than with the Turtle Club.

The First Day of Turtle’s

I always start to get a little anxious in January. Stir crazy.

Pitchers and catchers are scheduled to report to the Detroit Tigers spring training camp in mid February. In Lakeland Florida – where it will be nice and warm for those multi-million dollar arms and bats and gloves.

And that’s when spring would start, for me anyway.

That was until this year.

This year, my little girls are playing ball for the Turtle club.

Hey, laugh at the name all you want, but the Turtle Club is known far and wide for raising great traveling teams and running solid little leagues. The Turtle club is a club to be wary of. Named Turtle’s because the facilities – comprised of ten to twelve diamonds - sits along the Turtle creek.

Alannah will play T-Ball, and Ashley-Rae will play something called Blast-Ball. I didn’t know there was a level below T-ball.

My hope is that my girls enjoy playing ball this year, and so they can grow up as players in this organization. They can learn all that I learned from playing ball. Like teamwork. And learn the fundamental skills that will build their confidence.

Build a confidence that will carry over into other aspects of their lives.

I was not that surprised when we received a call – an automated voice message – instructing us that Alannah’s team was to start practice on Saturday, January 26. After all – I had taken them both in to register with the Turtle Club a couple of weeks before Christmas.

“These are some serious Turtles”, I thought to myself.

I looked outside. The ground has six inches of snow cover, more to come that night, and the next day.

It’s January.

We arrived at the gymnasium. The room was full of six and seven year old girls. They all had running shoes and ball gloves. Some had hats. Some wore uniforms from years gone by. Years of Blast-Ball experience I guess.

Alannah wore her T-ball uniform from two years ago, with the huge Canadian Tire logo on the front and the number ten across the back. And her rival league shirt was noticed

Alannah had played T-ball two summers ago, for the South Windsor Fastball league. And that was very good – but it started in April. The last week of April. And the kids - boys and girls - all ran around, and had to be told every time that you run to second base after you run to first base. The accomplishment at the end of game was to get a juice box. Every game ended 40 to 40. Every kid (ten in all) hits every inning, and the last hitter runs all the bases. So there were ten runs every innings for both teams – for four innings.

And that was just fine.

This is where Alannah learned most of her glove-hand skills; such as how to put hr glove on her head, how to pick up sand and stones in her glove like an hourglass, how to catch butterflies with her glove. And of course, how to throw your glove in the air and catch it.

T-ball was secondary to having fun.

The Turtles might be a bit more focused than her previous team. But after watching the coaches run the six and seven year-olds through the drills in the gym, I saw that their primary goal is to let the girls have fun too.

I was very proud of how Alannah did this first day. She moved side to side well, catching the ground ball in her glove each time, stopping to turn and throw to the glove of the coach. But then she would do a spin and fall down – looking to see who would laugh at her joke.

In the batting area, she hit the ball hard off the tee, on a line into the net in front of her, just like my dad would have taught her. But then she would hit her helmet with the bat and stagger dazed like one of the three stooges – again looking to see who would laugh at her jokes.

And the coaches were great. They let her have her fun, but then they explained nicely that she didn’t need to make people laugh right now. She could do that later. And she smiled and said “ok”.

I think the Turtles will teach them that playing ball is more fun than catching butterflies and balancing the glove on ones head. Or hitting ones self in the helmet with the bat for a laugh.

I like this group. I am excited about the girls playing this summer. I can’t wait.

I am usually tempted - when I become fond of groups like this – to jump right in and help – to offer to volunteer – take on some responsibility. And I will avail myself to these guys if they would have me. But there seems to be a tried and true method to this group. A process that they have found success with. I think I will watch this year, and participate as a parent, to learn their process. Or maybe if need be I could umpire.

I don’t know.

But this year is not about my participation with the Turtle Club. This is the year that my girls will fall in love with baseball.

At least I hope they will. What do you think, Dad?