Pitching to Towering Redheads

This story is true, I swear it's true, especially the parts I made up.

My daughters' fast pitch team played a tournament in middle Michigan last weekend.

In the first game of the tournament, they faced their toughest challenge in a team wearing red jerseys. These girls were at the older end of the age bracket with fourteen and fifteen year old girls. Our team was a year or two younger.

Our team, the Wildcats, were wearing their most intimidating black uniforms – with Wildcats scripted in bright red across the front.

Our starting pitcher Chantel is a very good pitcher. She throws fast and accurate. She is very effective. On this day though Chantel did very well to hold the opposition to only four runs in three innings.

In the fourth inning, my eldest daughter Alannah came in to pitch. She was throwing very well too, but runners were still getting on base. With bases loaded, a young lady stepped to the plate who towered above all the other players. She was as strong as she was tall. She had curly red hair and freckles that almost covered a sneer of confidence that would make Elvis look insecure.

Alannah threw her best pitches at her, but the third pitch caught too much of the plate and this young lady smashed it as hard and as long and as far as I have ever seen a ball hit in this division. The outfield fence sat 300 feet away from home plate, and this young lady hit the ball to that fence on one bounce.

She crossed home plate before our talented outfielders could even get the ball back into the infield. She crossed the plate to the salute of high fives from the three others that crossed before her.

Even though Alannah was pitching so well, she had just given up her first grand slam.

Our second game was rained out. We were drenched in the downpour racing for our cars.

Driving home, as Ashley-Rae slept in the backseat, Alannah and I discussed the event of the Grand Slam and the towering powerful young lady who hit it.

"I threw her my best stuff, Dad"

"Yes, and I never saw a softball fly so far", I replied. "Was the ball still round when they finally threw it back to you?"

"Shut up Dad"

Alannah sat quiet for a minute.

"Sometimes, Alannah, you can't strike everybody out", I finally said breaking the silence. "She hit Chantel pretty hard too".

"So what do you do then? The next time I face her. What do I do? Do I walk her?"

"I wouldn't waste the energy of throwing her four pitches", I replied. "I'd hit her".

"Dad, you're not supposed to say that", replied Alannah, a glare of slight shock that I would even suggest such a thing"

"Yup, maybe so. But I would hit her. I might say 'I'm sorry after. And if she came up again, I would say 'you know the drill', and I would hit her again.

Alannah kept looking at me.

"Does she respect you right now?" I asked.

"No"

"She will after you peg her in the butt a few times with a fastball"

That was all that was said.

The next day when we arrived at the park to play the game rained out the night before, Alannah joked with a couple of her team mates about what we talked about. She told Chantel, the starting pitcher, she told Maddie the third baseman, and she told Lilly who catches. And I guess they discussed it, and in the end it sounds like they all agreed.

But what were the odds they would even play that team again?

Well, those odds were much better than any of us suspected. 

Our Wildcat girls in black uniforms went on to win their next three games. And the Gold Medal game was now set for 8:30 PM under the lights of the main diamond. Their opponent of course was the same red uniformed team that had beaten them the night before. And of course the towering redheaded left-handed batter.

Chantel had pitched a lot that day, and she had pitched very well. But that was enough for one day, so Coach Sue gave Alannah the mound to start the game.

I must say, this was the most motivated that I had ever seen Alannah pitch. She threw her whole body through the pitch, and let out a grunt as she released the ball that was louder than any grunt ever grunted by Monica Seles. Her accuracy was dead on, and her velocity was as fast as I had ever seen her. Her eyes were focused and concentrated. And with each pitch she gained a little bit more of a confident sneer that would make Elvis look insecure.

She held her own with that red uniformed team. She held them off. And the second inning, who led off, but the towering redhead. Alannah's eyes met the sneering redhead's. And Alannah sneered right back at her.

Lilly who was catching behind the plate, winked at Alannah through her mask and yelled to the fielders, "Here we go!".

And then, with all her might she fired her first pitch at the powerful left-handed batter.

"Strike!" yelled the umpire as he pointed a strike call with his finger. The pitch came in hard and fast and made the redhead back off the plate, but it caught just the black edge of the plate for a strike.

The ball hit Lilly's mitt with a loud snap.

The redhead looked at Alannah, who simply sneered larger.

The next pitch came in even harder and even more inside forcing the redhead to back away to dodge the ball, but she swung the bat in self-defence.

"Strike TWO" yelled the umpire.

Alannah sneered even harder at the redhead. The redhead didn't sneer back.

"Let's get her Alannah!" shouted Lilly.

The next pitch came in even faster, this time at the redhead's helmet-protected noggin. The redhead fell to the dirt to avoid the pitch.

"BALL" screamed the Ump. "One ball two strikes ladies".

Lilly punched her mitt as Alannah stared in. Her sneer glaring even more confidently now.

Now, Alannah had two strikes on her. And in my mind as I watched from the stands, I thought to myself "Oh my goodness, she's going to strike her out".

This time when Alannah uncoiled with her pitch, she wasn't looking at Lilly's glove. She was looking at the redhead. And as the pitch came in with all the strength that Alannah could muster, all the redhead could do was turn away. And that's when Alannah's fastball caught the redhead dead square in the right buttocks.

The redhead dropped her bat and lumbered to first, rubbing her butt as she did.

"Sorry!" Alannah said to the redhead – her sneer still sneering.

After the game, as Alannah was showing me her silver medal, I asked her about the redhead.

"You almost struck her out" I said. "You had two strikes on her?"

"I did?"

"Yes, I was sure you were going to get her"

"I did, Dad. But she wouldn't stand still. I had to chase her all over the batter's box to do it!"

Change Is Inevitable

I think Mother Nature must be going through menopause.

Hot flashes one day, cold flashes the next; and the gusty winds and thunderstorms.

But this morning the air is still and the sky is blue. And the sun light is bright with a slight tint of orangey yellow.

And it's chilly.

The dew that dropped out of the sky has coated everything on the ground with a thick coat of wet.

Even though I pulled out my heavy black woolen sweater from the closet that stores winter coats, I'm still chilled by the slight breeze as I sit on the back deck by the still waters of the swimming pool.

I guess it's time to consider that summer is over and fall is starting.

It's time to close this swimming pool down. It's time to give it one final vacuum, empty the water to the half-way point, poor in the winter doses of chemicals, and put the black tarp on.

But not yet, at least not today.

We still have ball practices to attend, and the Major Leagues still have two weeks of the regular season left. But then, ball always starts before the pool opens and ends long after the pool is closed.

Many have told me that they feel ripped off by the summer we had this year. Too cool, too wet they all say. But I disagree.

This has been a fantastic summer.

There's a humming bird hovering next to a bush of blue flowers in the garden, sipping the dewy nectar that lies on the tiny petals, oblivious to the fact that it's forty seven degrees outside. But he is in the sunshine while I sit here in the shade.

I wonder if he thinks the summer was too short.

Maybe.

The trees don't think so. For all the maples that I see in my surroundings, only one has leaves starting to turn orange and red. And he always starts early, as though in a rush to be first. The first with leaves in spring, and the first to change colors and fall in autumn.

The impatient one, while the rest still stand high and sturdy with lush green leaves in no hurry to see the season end.

It is still summer you know.

My eldest daughter Alannah has ball practice shortly at noon. Still a practice / tryout of sorts for a new team with another club called the Wildcats, having been cut from the next age group up at the Turtle Club. The experience left me questioning the concept of loyalty – and how do I convince her to hold the value true when the club she was so loyal too was not loyal back to her in return.

But you have to earn your spot to make the team. And this year the competition came from every nook and cranny of our peninsula of a county nested between the great lakes St. Claire and Erie. I watched most every moment of those practices, and I thought Alannah did terrific.

But I must have misjudged her competition.

Last year, my youngest Ashley-Rae missed the cut to play on the same team Alannah did. She spent the summer watching from the side with me, and together we went through house league and all stars. And together we had a ball. Now this year, she made the team that Alannah grew too old to play for anymore. She won her spot in convincing fashion. And so as a family we now get to remain with the other families who will still travel together next year from tournament to tournament, while we make new friends on the new team that Alannah seems certain to earn a spot on. Families from a different club who may not hold the Turtle Club in as high esteem as we do, out of loyalty.

Next year we will be both inside – and on the outside looking in. On both sides of the window.

Alannah's new team does look like it will be very strong though. I haven't seen a single weak player on the team. And two of her old team mates from Turtle Club will be there to, both Lilly and Rachael suffered the same breakdown in what they presumed to be a two-way commitment.

I'm very proud of my two girls – both equally – as they grow up with fast pitch softball as one of their anchor points in their development into young ladies. In fact I am very proud of all the girls I have had the pleasure to manage and coach this year – and those that I simply rooted for on Alannah's team.

There isn't a bad apple in the whole group.

And so, with Ashley's experience of being cut behind her, and now Alannah, the older sister, just learning the experience now – and moving on with a maturity that inspires me, I reconsider my position and understand that relationships, be them with people or with organizations, are more often than not fleeting. They are ever-changing, growing like the huge maples that grow around my yard.

And some change colors early, while others stay green as long as they can.

It's been a fantastic summer for me and my family. Travelling to play ball and watching them step up to each challenge and conquer their own self-doubts. Both Alannah and Ashley-Rae grew up a good bit this year in the most positive ways any father could ask for.

And now they are confident in their own abilities and in each other's as well. They know how to face obstacles, how to meet challenges, and how to succeed.

It's been a fantastic summer.

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.

I got a buddy, eh ...

I don’t care much for self-proclaimed experts.

For all that I have met, there is one guy who sits at the top of my list.

When I was a younger man, still living in London, I played on a fastpitch softball team with some friends and we were a pretty good team.

The guy who coached us was a bum of sorts. And we dismissed him and usually coached our team by committee. If we all agreed we did it. And this guy would always say that it was his leadership that brought us to our conclusion.

Anytime this bum needed to sound authoritative on any subject, he would always preface his next statement by saying “I got a buddy eh, …” and he would go on to tell us what this expert buddy told him.

And for every subject there seemed to be a different buddy.

This guy was not so likeable that he would have that many buddies. Or that they would all be so incredibly knowledgeable, and more so to be so generous with their knowledge to share it with this bum of a coach guy.

It drove me nuts, and the tripe that spewed  out of his mouth after declaring his buddy status was usually quite useless.

So I have never really held much credence to those who start to impose their wisdoms with the sentence “I got a buddy, eh …”

Until now, because you see …

I got a buddy, eh …  a fellow I work with who over the last two years who is a coach of a much older team than my girls play on. His daughter plays on this team and he has always described her as very good. And we would talk about softball, usually with me asking questions and he giving answers. His answers have always been very good ones.

One day this spring I was telling him about our upcoming trip to a tournament in Toledo. Let me first say that the level of play in Toledo is fantastic, with clubs that that recruit players from up to a hundred miles away. Their coaches are paid instructors – not the volunteer parents and neighbors our leagues here offer. Not coaches like me, who try to work with the basic knowledge of a fan.

So I was telling him about our Toledo trip and he told me to try to get the girls ready to be beaten badly – mercied  if you will –  every game.  Then he told me “spend the remaining part of your time teaching your girls how to defend against the bunt. These teams will test you early, and if you can’t make the right plays, they will spend the whole game simply bunting on you and taking your defense apart.  Train them every scenario with runners in every combination – runner on first. Runner on third, runner on first and third – bunting up and down the first and third baselines – teach them all of those until they know it cold.”

So I shared this knowledge with our team manager, but I prefaced it by saying “I don’t know what level of authority this is coming from … but here is what he told me …”

Our next practice was devoted entirely to bunting – just as my buddy Len had suggested. And it paid off. While we did get beaten badly every game - losing by ten runs easily as we entered the third inning of each – the other teams only tried bunting on us once or twice, maybe three times a game, and our girls handled most well enough that the other teams just resorted to hitting home runs and line drives to every open spot they could find on the field. And when batting, we only had one base runner that entire tournament.

The next week, when I saw Len, he asked how we made out. I told him how humbling the experience was, but that his advice about bunting was great advice that worked, and even though we got completely annihilated, it wasn’t because they bunted us to death,

Our second tournament in Toledo we won a game from a Toledo team, and played close in a couple others, but annihilated by the best teams.

He smiled and told me that was great progress.

This week, I ran into Len in the hallway again, and he told me with beaming pride about how his team actually won that weekend’s tournament in Toledo.

“Really?!, That’s fantastic!”, I said.

“Yes, but we have a lot to work on still he replied”.

That struck me.

Thursday, our coach mentioned that we were going to have one of the other clubs coaches come to one of our practices. I was curious, so I looked at the other clubs website to find out about this other coach. As I was weaving my way through the teams on their site, I tripped over their under 18 girls team. And there was my buddy Len as the coach.

And below in the list of players – his daughters name was listed. And above that list there was another list of accomplishments.

Ontario Provincial Woman’s Softball Association Silver Medalists

Len’s daughter was listed as the PWSA Top Batter from two seasons before, and the PWSA  most valuable player last year.

And I realized the true quality of advice that I was getting.

And I felt kind of silly in my boasting of my own two girls, who are both doing very well and I am very proud of, but not anything like Len’s daughter.  We are truly just beginning.

All of Len’s advice had been excellent advice, and I did take and followed it when given. But I did not realize the level of authority that my buddy held when he told me.

But now I have this conflict. I really don’t want to sound like that bum of a coach that we all dismissed on that team from long ago.

But I’m afraid I probably will now.

I can just hear me during our next practice, standing at the fence with the coaches, and saying ….

“I got a buddy, eh …”

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.

Kicking Your Heels Up Gets You Cut

When I was a younger man, I played a lot of softball.

Fast pitch, slow pitch, it didn’t matter really. I just loved to play ball. I played up until I got married and had kids ten years ago.

One team I played for was a fast pitch team that played in London Ontario’s old PUC premier “Blue” League. A couple of friends of mine put the team together, and asked me to come try out.

Another friend of mine got wind of the tryouts – and asked if he could tryout too. A phone call later, and my friend was also invited to be on the list of recruits.

I wasn’t too worried about the tryouts. I had a lot of confidence in my fielding – infield, outfield, hitting, base running - I wasn’t too worried.

At the tryouts, we lined up for some simple drills after an opening talk about how the team would be run and what kind of schedule and commitments we would be asked to be available for.

I lined up at short stop – and my invited friend lined up at second. Some ground balls were hit to us. Some pop flies over the infield, and I handled all hit to me pretty cleanly.

The coach hitting the ball miss-hit a pop fly to my invited friend at second – resulting in a soft line drive slightly above his head. The kind you merely reach up and catch as if playing catch in warm-ups.

But my friend didn’t simply reach up and catch the ball.

No.

Instead, the friend I had asked to be invited did this silly kind of jump in the air and caught the ball in front of his chest. While in the air, he kicked up both his heels so they hit the back of his bum.

And he landed with the ball.

Everyone stopped – and stared at my invited friend.

“What the &$%@# was that?”, shouted the coach holding the bat at home plate.

Ball coaches swear … a lot.

“What?”, said my invited friend.

“That little girlie jump”, said the coach.

“What?”, repeated my invited friend.

“Are you playing ball or trying out for the $@*&# lead in Swan Lake?”, yelled the coach.

“What?”, my invited friend repeated yet again.

The matter seemingly exhausted – the coach flipped the ball in the air and hit a shot to first base.

After that drill, we came off the field and grabbed a bat to take some swings.

The coach was standing over to the side with a couple of veteran guys from the team, one of them my buddy who actually invited me to try out. My buddy looked over at me, and waved me over into the conversation.

I walked over and joined the group.

“What the %$&@# was that little ballerina move your buddy made over there at second?”, the coach asked me.

“Uh … yeah … I saw that. I forgot he used to do that a lot.”, I said. I had no idea how to defend my invited friend.

“Maybe if we told him not to do that anymore?”, offered my buddy.

“You tell him”, the coach said to me.

“Okay”, I said. I looked over to my invited friend who was taking practice swings with the bat. His back was arched way back and the bat was swung from his ankles to over his shoulder – as though he was practicing home run swings.

“Oh #%#@, he’s practicing home runs over there”, mumbled the coach as I tried to get my invited friends attention to join our conversation. He was intentionally ignoring us, hoping his grand slam swing would change the coach’s minds.

“Send him home”, said the coach. And he walked away.

I walked over to my invited friend, with my buddy behind me.

“I gotta talk to you”, I said to my invited friend.

“Wassup?”, he saw my buddy there with me.

“Coach wanted me to ask you if you wouldn’t do that jumping kick thing anymore …”, I started.

“What’s the big deal, I always played that way?”.

“Then he saw you over here swinging a bat …”, I continued.

“Oh yeah? What’d he think?”

“He wants us to tell you to go home”, said my buddy.

“Huh?”, said my invited friend.

“You’re cut”, I said simply.

“I am? I’m an all star? I played on the travelling team at home?”, said my friend, loud enough to be sure the Coach heard him.

“It’s that jump thing, man. It did you in. I forgot you did that”, I said. He and I had talked about this a few seasons before, on a different team, where he informed me that was his ... style. He didn't change then. He wasn't about to change now.

My invited friend argued with us for a couple more minutes. The coach finally came over and said “You’re cut!”, turned around and went back pitching to other guys still trying out.

My invited friend picked up his bag, a hockey back, and stuck his glove and his bat inside, and turned to walk away. He looked back at me …

“Aren’t ya coming?”, asked my invited friend.

“I’m not cut yet”, I replied. “And I didn’t do that silly kick thing in the air”.

He turned to walk to his car … mumbling things under his breath as he left.

“I thought you said he was pretty good?”, said my buddy.

“He’s not bad. I guess I forgot that jumping kick thing”, I replied.

I made that team. And we had a great year. On the first of July we played under the fireworks at Labatt’s park, where the then Double A London Tigers played home games. It was really a great experience.

Except for that first day of tryouts.

I remembered this the other day, at the office, when one of our new developers was trying too hard to show me how good he was – or thought he was. And all I could think of was that guy – the friend I invited to try out for the London Blues division fast pitch team. The guy I had to tell that he was cut.

I guess the moral to the story is that – if you’re good – and you know you’re good – don’t try so hard.

If you’re good, people will see it. You don’t have to show boat it.

But I do still feel bad about that day. My invited friend never did talk to me again.

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.

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?