Grasshopper

Daughters in sports for a dad are a special thing. I am sure for their mother, watching her children play is awesome and in no way am I minimizing her connection or joy. For me as a father, it's a unique feeling and connection to my youth.

Both of my girls recently began playing T-ball.

Seeing your daughters dressed in knee high socks, a too large ball cap with an animal stitched on the front, her hands choked up on a tiny baseball bat over her shoulder enhancing her smile, might connect you back to days when you enjoyed smelling the fresh cut grass of the outfield in the same attire. By no means was I a baseball prodigy or did I have a distinguished career in this sport. Let me be crystal clear, had I utilized a Dominican birth certificate to play with the advantage of being 5 years older than the kids I played with, I would still be less than memorable. It does something more important for me. It brings back memories of playing catch in the yard when my step dad got home from work. We would grab gloves, head out back, and talk while trying to make the ball snap into each others worn out mitt. There was some dust in the air at picture day I may have had to deal with.

So I share a story from our littlest's first game and the enlightening discussion after the game

I volunteered to coach with another dad, and we became, the Greensboro Grasshoppers. Thankfully, I was not asked for a resume, or required to submit to a test of my baseball knowledge of any kind. I just had to enjoy teaching kids, or be willing to herd cats and take responsibility not to lose a 4 or 5 year old.

The coaching clinic for the little league program was good, a couple unique keywords and concepts they expected us to convey. Really it was a large number of dads chuckling in a room and learning how not to screw up the fun for children.

9 kids showed up smiling and ready to learn. We had several practices learning fun concepts like dragon, alligator, chicken wing, goalpost, throw... These will be the subject of a book I will someday write, just know that the kids seemed to enjoy themselves, or at least put up with our crazy ways of attempting to teach them basic concepts before our big game day. Mostly, we practiced circling the bases in the counterclockwise manner necessary to score, and worked on the team cheer, which included the standard 1,2,3 "GRASSHOPPERS" followed by a small grasshopper hop.

At opening game day, there was a certain buzz in the air as the coaches all shook hands and recapped the rules we knew and the ones we didn't. We overcame any technical difficulties like the mini foul line circle missing, and determined that even though home and visitor had sat on the wrong benches, that the commissioner wasn't going to fine us or bench our biggest stars if we decided not to rectify this, after all, making 20 four and five year olds change benches would certainly ensure we would lose a child or they would get unclothed, thinking the game was over.

If you have never witnessed 4 and 5 year olds play T-ball, I highly recommend it. In Wisconsin, in late April, it means that it will likely be 45 degrees and the children will still be wearing jackets. This makes it all the more hilarious when an ankle biter jogs towards third instead of first after cracking a solid hit. It also make the negotiation to get the kiddo to drop the bat instead of carrying it with them to first, only to be told, "I can't drop it, it's my bat and dad said I couldn't lose it or he wouldn't buy me another one" a bit more hilarious.

We had several base runners stop mid base, and turn to run towards the pitcher. Another runner decided heading towards the dugout was closer than heading to home base, I applauded the logic. It was a miracle we were capable of getting outs while on defense, but we secured 5 of them in the 3 innings we played. Of the 5, 3 related to opponent runners taking circuitous routes to the base they were supposed to go, while the entire cheering section of both teams was screaming "no the other way". No coaches or players were harmed in the game, for which we were thankful, and surprised. If you have never umpired a game, handing a 4 year old a bat is a bit like poking a bear, you know its not a good idea to be close enough to do either.

As a Dad, there is something special to be able to stand next to your daughter at home, and see her little noggin concentrate, lifting a bat too heavy for her, swinging her heart out and hoping to make contact, and then rumbling to first base with a smile. After she turns and gives the thumbs up and a wink which utilizes not only her eye, but her entire face, shoulders, and body, your heart can't be the same.

I chose to move to first base coach in the third and final inning, and I won't soon forget how special she made me feel when she belted a roller, and ran full bore to first, eyes fixed on her father. She ran through the base, into my arms giving me a giant hug.

The Tball game traditionally ends with a "base race" where both teams race around the bags in a relay to see which team was the fastest. We had 8 players for the game, the other team had 10, so we borrowed the younger 3 year old brother of the opponents for our squad after a quick interview where he indicated he was wearing his fast shoes and his dad vouched for him, and my daughter ran twice to ensure there was no cheating.

I think we lost the game and I'm sure we lost the base race but it was close. Instant replay would show that it's hard to run fast if your oversized pants are falling down.

As we got in the car, the discussion was simple.

"Did you have fun?"
"I was cold"
"What was your favorite part?"
"When I ran and gave you a hug"
"Do you like Tball?"
"I'm hungry"

Grasshoppers like to hit, hug, and eat. Father's of Grasshoppers highly recommend sharing sports with your daughters. I'm not sure at what age they stop running into your arms, but I'm gonna find out.

bvd