If I were organizing a men’s softball team today, I’d make a rule: if you were in Little League, you can’t be on this team.
Dig this video of a Little League coach pepping up the kiddies for the game. If your dad, he says, ever told you the goal here is simply to play your best and have fun, then–I quote–“Your dad’s a loser.” Because, he says, the goal is to win: “make the other players cry.”
Dude, my dad on his worst day was worth 50 of you. I am so glad he–and my mother–decided to keep me out of Little League. It’s been my experience that organized sports, rather than bringing out anything good, turns you into an obnoxious little twerp. How many times have I seen that demonstrated in men’s basketball at the Y?
I was told I could play all day if I wanted, as long as it wasn’t in Little League. My mother taught me to hit like Harmon Killebrew. My dad played catch with my brother and me in the evening–after he came home from another strenuous day at the Ford plant. As the years go by, I’m more and more grateful to them for having the wisdom to let children be children.
This other guy–pffft! Begone, varlet.