Book Excerpt
From The Best of Hal Lebovitz
May 28, 1972
A good friend and Plain Dealer associate said, “I met a guy who says he knows you. We met under strange circumstances.”
“Strained” circumstances would have been a better description.
That’s what Little League baseball does to parents.
Both men had sons involved in a practice game. The fellow who said he knows me was umpiring.
There was a runner on first. The batter grounded to the second basemen who transferred the ball to his bare hand and tagged the oncoming runner with his empty glove. The umpire called him out.
My friend at the PD couldn’t restrain himself. He walked up to the umpire and said, “You know the kid tagged the runner with his glove, but he had the ball in his other hand. That’s not a legal tag.”
“Don’t tell me the rules,” shouted the ump. “I’ve been around. I played a lot of ball. What do you know about the game?”
The PD man stood his ground. “I’m from Brooklyn,” he said, which is the ultimate reply explaining everything. “I saw a lot of games at Ebbets Field.”
“I played there,” retorted the ump. “They throw garbage in Ebbets Field.”
The PD man took this as a personal insult. The words grew louder. Finally, in exasperation, the PD man said, “I know Lebovitz,” a frightening declaration indeed.
“I know him, too,” shouted the ump, completely unimpressed. “I’ll bet you any amount you’re wrong on the rule. Go ask him.”
So that’s how I got into the act.
The ump, whose name I won’t disclose to prevent further bloodshed (mine), had been a National League ball player. Nevertheless, he blew the rule. It wasn’t a legal tag. A tag must be made with the ball, or with the glove while the ball is securely held inside.
He should have known better.
A mature adult, he also should have known better than to get into an argument with a neighbor over such an insignificant incident and he’s sheepish about it today.
The PD man is sorry, too. “I promised myself,” he said “not to become a Little League father. I was just going to go to the games, watch and enjoy—and keep quiet.
“But before I knew it, I got involved in the game. I felt compelled to correct the umpire. We were silly to carry on like that in front of our children. From now on I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
It won’t be easy. I know. I was a Little League father, also an umpire and a commissioner. Little League brings out the worse in parents.
The kids are great. It’s the papas and mamas who take the fun out of the game for the youngsters. It’s no longer their game. It belongs to the adults. We run it. We do everything but hit the ball and we burn when the kids can’t even do that.
My suggestion is to give the game back to the kids and each time I make it, it’s as though I’m blasting motherhood or the American flag.
Before you start writing that nasty letter, ask yourself these questions:
Is your son playing because he wants to or because you want him to?
If your son isn’t the pitcher or the catcher, doesn’t he stand around most of the time watching the action?
Are you putting any pressure on your son during the games?
Do you criticize him after the game for his failures?
If you are the manager, do you unconsciously favor your son?
If you are not the manager, do you question the way the manager is handling your son?
Isn’t it true the manager really doesn’t know much about the game?
Do you forget that you once made errors and struck out?
Is Little League forcing your son to become a beggar, going house to house or standing on street corners, asking for money so he can wear a big league uniform?
Do you want to shout, “Stand in there” when that big kid pitching throws a fast ball over the plate and your son backs away?
Do you get irritated by the other team’s manager or the umpire because things aren’t going your son’s way and do you let your anger show? Do they become your momentary enemies?
Can you attend the games in a relaxed fashion?
Can you forget about the game after it’s over or do your son’s mistakes continue to bother you hours later?
Are you more wrapped up in the game than your son is?
Are you trying to recapture your childhood through him?
Are you and/or other adults in the community more involved in the program than the kids are?
Is there a good chance his present Little League experience will turn your son away from wanting to play baseball within a few years?
If the answer to most of the above questions is “yes,” you will have to admit that changes definitely are in order.
Therefore, I hope you will agree with this four-point plan:
ONE—As much as possible, let the kids run their own league. Let it be their experience, not yours. Let them elect their own captain. Let the kids serve as base coaches. A knowledgeable parent can act as the head of the league in the manner of a leader or scoutmaster, but let the kids do as much work and organizing and maintaining of grounds as possible. Once the adults set up the structure, turn it over to the kids.
TWO—Bring in knowledgeable men from the community—the high school baseball coach, for example—to conduct clinics on fundamentals for the players. High school and college players can serve as managers and umpires. If parents must serve as managers, do not permit them to manage teams on which their sons play. If they really are dedicated and want to help the kids, they will gladly volunteer to coach another team. But, as much as possible, turn the game over to the kids. Let them take on the responsibilities. Keep the parents on the sidelines—as far, far back as possible.
THREE—Eliminate the big league uniforms. Caps, T-shirts and jeans are good enough. The kids should be playing for the fun of it, not for the uniforms. If they’re big leaguers at age ten, what do they have to look forward to when they’re fifteen? Under the present Little League structure, too many youngsters are finished with the game once they pass the LL age. Moreover, it will cut the cost of the program to a minimum. It will reduce the demeaning begging for funds.
FOUR—Start the kids off with slow pitch softball. This puts ALL the kids in the game. There’s hitting, running, throwing, no standing around. Even the right fielder gets into the game. Meanwhile, there’s greater exposure to all the fundamentals. Most of all, in slow pitch they don’t become frightened of the ball. They don’t develop the bad habit of backing away. When the kids get a little older, they can advance to hardball. They’ll be more eager for it when they’re physically ready.
Several communities have adopted these suggestions in recent years and, happily, they report highly successful results. I have letters on file as proof.
Try it, you might like it. More important, the kids will.
