A Night, or 40 Years, At the Softball Park
Posted: Wed Jun 12, 2013 9:49 am
I supervise at our local softball park. I've been involved in local softball in our community for the last 40 years. I've seen our program progress/regress from fast pitch, to competitive slo pitch, to a mixture of competitive and leisure slo pitch to all leisure slo pitch. It is called 'leisure' because of the brand of ball played. Not the players mindset. They've fooled themselves into thinking that they are the best and playing for the World Serious.
We've dumbed down the rules. We don't call infield flies anymore because it takes too long to explain what the rule is, and there aren't any players who will take advantage of it any way. Home plate is now taggable by a catcher on throws trying to beat a runner at home, while the runner tries to cross a line perpendicular to the plate, to avoid collisions at home.
We have two first base bags. One for the first baseman. One for the runner.
The umpires job has gone from being certified at a state level for fast pitch or competitve slo pitch, to what it is now. That of a crossing guard, directing players where to go. My job has gone from handling irate players over umpires calls or brawls or running state or national tourneys, to answering questions about when a teams next game is and if the 'home team' gets to pick the dugout they sit in. Or, if it's ok to play in flip-flop's.
Despite the change in aptitude level, human frailties still come into play.
Last night, a foul ball was hit into the parking lot. A kid chased after it. A player whose team hit the ball asked the kid for the ball and did not get the response looked for. The kid seeing baseball games, thought the ball was his.
The player, agitated, called the kids a few names.
Enter the Mother.
The Mother lets go with a list of profanities and threats, among them that she had a knife in the car and knew where the players tires were located.
The player responds that he has a gun in the car.
It is at this point that I am summoned. The parking lot is 100 yards from the complex and the only information that I have, is that two people are threatening each other with guns and knives.
By the time I get there, two players have taken out bats and are having words. I stepped between them and told them to both lower their bats and shut up. One of the players says his friend has been hit and that he was just 'having his back'.
I'll never know how escalating a problem, is 'having a friend's back'.
It seems that while I was walking to the parking lot, that a player, a friend of woman and son, had sucker punched the player she had a problem with.
I found that player and asked for his story. He said the kid wouldn't give me the foul ball, so.....blah, blah, blah.
l asked if he treasured that ball.
He said, 'Treasure it? No.'
I said if he would have just smiled at the kid and said, 'Have fun with it, Kid', none of this would have happened.
No knives, no guns, no bat fights, no punches, no threats.
He smiled and said, 'right?'
I enjoy being around the game. It's why I've been around the park for so long. But things have changed so much over the years, that the thought of leaving the program has crept into my mind.
Bad hitters are hitting home runs because they play with super bats or super balls.
Pitchers are given an apology for balls hit up the middle.
These same pitchers are starting to resemble hockey goalies in their garb.
The game has changed a lot. Maybe too much.
Still, it may just be me. The current players seem to enjoy the game. Maybe I'm just an 'old schooler' remembering the 'good old days'.
Either way, it's clear they still need supervision.
These players still all have the five human senses of touch, taste, sight, hearing, and smelling.
But, invariably there comes a night like last night when missing the most important sense.
Common sense.
We've dumbed down the rules. We don't call infield flies anymore because it takes too long to explain what the rule is, and there aren't any players who will take advantage of it any way. Home plate is now taggable by a catcher on throws trying to beat a runner at home, while the runner tries to cross a line perpendicular to the plate, to avoid collisions at home.
We have two first base bags. One for the first baseman. One for the runner.
The umpires job has gone from being certified at a state level for fast pitch or competitve slo pitch, to what it is now. That of a crossing guard, directing players where to go. My job has gone from handling irate players over umpires calls or brawls or running state or national tourneys, to answering questions about when a teams next game is and if the 'home team' gets to pick the dugout they sit in. Or, if it's ok to play in flip-flop's.
Despite the change in aptitude level, human frailties still come into play.
Last night, a foul ball was hit into the parking lot. A kid chased after it. A player whose team hit the ball asked the kid for the ball and did not get the response looked for. The kid seeing baseball games, thought the ball was his.
The player, agitated, called the kids a few names.
Enter the Mother.
The Mother lets go with a list of profanities and threats, among them that she had a knife in the car and knew where the players tires were located.
The player responds that he has a gun in the car.
It is at this point that I am summoned. The parking lot is 100 yards from the complex and the only information that I have, is that two people are threatening each other with guns and knives.
By the time I get there, two players have taken out bats and are having words. I stepped between them and told them to both lower their bats and shut up. One of the players says his friend has been hit and that he was just 'having his back'.
I'll never know how escalating a problem, is 'having a friend's back'.
It seems that while I was walking to the parking lot, that a player, a friend of woman and son, had sucker punched the player she had a problem with.
I found that player and asked for his story. He said the kid wouldn't give me the foul ball, so.....blah, blah, blah.
l asked if he treasured that ball.
He said, 'Treasure it? No.'
I said if he would have just smiled at the kid and said, 'Have fun with it, Kid', none of this would have happened.
No knives, no guns, no bat fights, no punches, no threats.
He smiled and said, 'right?'
I enjoy being around the game. It's why I've been around the park for so long. But things have changed so much over the years, that the thought of leaving the program has crept into my mind.
Bad hitters are hitting home runs because they play with super bats or super balls.
Pitchers are given an apology for balls hit up the middle.
These same pitchers are starting to resemble hockey goalies in their garb.
The game has changed a lot. Maybe too much.
Still, it may just be me. The current players seem to enjoy the game. Maybe I'm just an 'old schooler' remembering the 'good old days'.
Either way, it's clear they still need supervision.
These players still all have the five human senses of touch, taste, sight, hearing, and smelling.
But, invariably there comes a night like last night when missing the most important sense.
Common sense.