Just Plain Batty

I rolled down Highway 99 in a steamy U-Haul van with a busted air conditioner and a hot breeze blowing from the vents. The drive in a metal sweatbox was all part of helping a widow move. The widow, my mom, was leaving California’s Central Valley for Phoenix six months after cancer killed my father.

Back home in the San Fernando Valley, some parents from my baseball league were growling louder than a chained pit bull at a mail carrier. A couple of parents were threatening to leave the Toluca Baseball league, with their child in tow, because they didn’t care for the All-Star selections. As a coach of the All-Star team, I had heard it all.

Meanwhile, as the moving van rumbled down the highway, an ornate blue box shuddered on the seat next to me, my dad’s ashes stored inside. My mom is still tying to figure out just where he should rest in peace.

It’s that time of year for the postseason tournaments, and even if you hate baseball, you need to pay attention. Society is so fixated on American Idols and Survivors, it’s no longer good enough for too many parents to just watch their child play. There’s a whole nest of nut cases with jaw-grinding visions of calling their offspring All-Stars.

And while we considered scattering my father’s ashes at sea or maybe planting them in a garden, I really didn’t want to hear any All-Star whining. I don’t care how many times Junior threw out runners from third base while wearing puka shells on Thursdays. Or how well little Barry Bonds had swung the bat during the regular season.

The All-Star season is an irregular one. We coaches have to find some kid who can get a hit off the 8-year-old genetic wonder from Santa Clarita who has a dastardly fastball, sideburns and a mortgage payment. And please, don’t reenact plays. Coaches know that one little fielder may have made what seemed to be a spectacular diving catch, but it would have been a routine play for a superior player who had kept his balance.

I coach in Toluca Baseball. I’m not indicting the whole league. At least 99% of the parents are wonderful. It used to be 100% but we may have lost a few people in recent weeks to the brain-warping All-Star virus. After a totally unscientific survey of friendly faces throughout the Southern California coaching community, and coaches I barely tolerate, I offer this advice to parents who want their children to play All Stars or travel ball in any sport.

1) Be nice. Get this shocker: There’s tremendous temptation for coaches to choose the sons and daughters of affable, supportive people who smile and even pick up a rake and help clean up after the game. It’s human nature to swerve around potholes, prickly relatives and parents who violate your peace like a telemarketer at dinner. Don’t insult the coach, a volunteer who’d rather be in Maui than listen to your self-absorbed recap of your child’s season. Avoid the temptation to verbally tear down the skills of a player who made the team over your child. It does nothing to help your child play better. No kid ever hit a home run with your mouth.

2) Be realistic. Quite often, the All-Stars are made up of the top 5% of the players in the league. Ask yourself these questions: Is my child that good? How are their fundamentals? Their footwork? How can I help him or her improve? What might make them stand out next time? In most leagues, several coaches, maybe as many as a dozen, vote on All-Star matters. You want to help your child become an easy choice for all of them, not just the guy you shamelessly brown-nosed at the opening ceremony.

3) Be patient. Today’s All-Star might get burned out by overzealous parents and drop out to become a full-time skate punk. If your child has a good attitude, loves the game and is dedicated, he or she will probably improve and, cross your fingers, not show up someday with a hardware store of piercings.

4) Be quiet. The bigger the inferno you ignite over All-Star selections, the more attention you’ll draw to what a three-alarm moron you are. This reputation can filter all the way up to the high school level. I know of cases where parents smartly kept their dignity when coaches made a tough choice about not adding their child to a team. Later, the child was rewarded and made the team. And the child’s parents, who could have wasted time gossiping about the first All-Star cut, instead took in dinner and a movie.

5) Be smart. Don’t put your child’s homework on the back shelf. Education first! Coaches know intelligent players will learn how to perform in the game. Your child’s chances of making the Major Leagues, NBA, WNBA , etc., are about the same as winning the lottery, so why not just go buy yourself a ticket and stop worrying. My son is on the All-Star team, and I’ll tell you, you’re not missing that much. There’s one tournament site that’s dusty, blistering hot and the umpires are mean. I call it the Devil’s Ashtray.

I’m sure Dr. Laura would say my dad probably should have seen more of my youth baseball games. When he did show up, he simply watched and cheered. Never mentioned a thing to a coach about the game. While I can’t exactly say the same thing for myself, my dad would argue I’m statue silent compared to the Little League lobbyists. I remember my father, a longtime restaurateur, once talked to my Babe Ruth League coach about how to make steak sauce out of garlic and butter. Right now, some of us volunteer coaches could use a few more parents like him.