Snow Tires In Spring

This opinion piece appeared in the Townsman, December 4 edition

Oh boy, it's snowing, and I don't say 'oh boy' in that let's-get-out-the-sleds way, I say it in that where-are-those-darn-snow tires way. I am a great procrastinator, so while you're zipping down the road watch out for the guy ahead of you slip-sliding on both sides of the highway with his trunk bulging with snow tires on his way to the garage to get them put on; that's me. To add to everybody's peril, I won't even be thinking about the slippery road or Nature's intense effort to arrange our fender-bender. I'll be thinking about little league. The trick to being a good procrastinator is steady maintenance of Denial, and my way of getting through winter is to think about the coming spring. Thus, my vernal visions of the coming little league season.

My career as a little league manager began the usual way, signing my kids up in the minor league. Then I showed up at all the games and stayed. Then I helped the coach pick up the bases and gather the bats and do the detective work required to return the gloves strewn over the field to their respective owners. Next thing I knew the incumbent coach's kid aged out and I was left with the team (The Woodstock Meats Yankees, if you're curious).

For two seasons we waged battle against the Colonial Pharmacy Giants, the Bearsville Market Red Sox and the Sunflower Tigers. Toward the end of this stint I finally had been able to advance the players' from the perception that a position in the outfield was Nap Time to the belief that staying on one's feet was definitely required in baseball.

This astonishing accomplishment led to my advancement to the Big League, and assumption of the manager's role for the Blue Jays. A big leaguer, I found out, does not have to carry his sponsor's name on his back, and we were simply the Blue Jays. During the first season we battled against Chester Robbin's Indians, Lou Casciaro's Orioles and Mark Bailey's Cubs.

I would have had better luck managing against Leo Durocher. Lou and Mark had developed terrific teams, and Chester had fashioned a machine so well oiled and finely tuned that to this day I bow in reverence to the man. Make a long story short, the Blue Jays that year went 0-14. That's right, '0' as in 'oh hell, not again' for 14.

You would think half way through our drubbing that we'd start to feel depressed. You would be wrong. The Blue Jays fought like the Army of Northern Virginia did against its unspeakable odds. Unfortunately, I wasn't Robert E. Lee, so we never got even one Bull Run to celebrate.

The losing was all my fault. It began with the draft before the season had started. I picked my kid, a couple of his mates, all nine year olds, and then a whole bunch of big twelve year olds. Heh heh, I snickered to myself when none of my choices were challenged. Little did I know that in baseball, steroids be damned, size does not matter, and what I had assembled was a big team with little experience. This in itself may not have been a disaster, but coupled with my scanty knowledge of big league coaching we were dead ducks.

Oh my, the scores. 16-2. 22-4, 12-0. You get the picture.

The next year we came in second, and for two years after that we were the champions. But the team I will never forget is that 0-14 crew.

Not one of them gave up, dropped out or failed to show up for even one drubbing. The dugout, as it was in those days a mere bench in the sun, remained watchful, hopeful and even expectant through every game. Each batter approached the plate with the dignity of The Iron Horse, and took his position on the field with no less diligence and alacrity than Derek Jeter. There was no carping, no finger pointing, no scapegoating. They were truly a band of brothers. The whole world may have thought they were losers, but somehow the message never had gotten through to them.

The play-offs said it all. The rules stated the last place team played the first place team, which meant we played the Indians, who had not lost a game all season. The winner would advance to the championship game. By this time the other teams began looking at us like we were stupid for just showing up. Don't get me wrong, the other coaches taught sportsmanship and taught it well, and certainly showing respect to the losing team was part of it. But human nature, being what it is, one can't help but make the saddest face to an 0 for 14 opponent.

I sent my ace to the mound, which meant the plate was guarded by one of my nine year olds.

The climax of our season was the fourth inning. We led by two runs. By the next inning we were behind six runs, and our perfect imperfect season would soon be over, but in the fourth inning we were ahead by two runs. We all looked over to the Indian bench, and saw something we had never seen that entire season in an opponent; worry!

By golly, we had worried the Indians! So what if it had been for only five minutes? To the Blue Jays that fleeting moment was like winning the World Series.

The Blue Jays of that era are young men now, not only facing a winter but a world fraught with gloom and peril. The era that had tolerated my procrastination now lies under snow and a challenging, even daunting new era begins. I'd worry, except that I know there are people in this world capable of great fortitude. I had the privilege of coaching some of them.

Okay, my eyes are on the road now.