I’ve been managing editor of a newspaper, deadlines and all. I managed a judo program at the Y. I’ve managed classrooms full of fidgety students.
All of it a piece of cake, compared to managing a men’s softball team.
You think women gossip? Hah! Are you interested in sheer pettiness? Do you want to create factions within small organizations wherein you’d swear there wasn’t room for factions? How about whispering campaigns against your teammates? How about trashing somebody when his back is turned?
Oh, the comments! “So-and-so is an embarrassment to the team.” “Such-and-such thinks he’s too good for us.” “This team was better before he came along!” “He calls himself a manager, but he won’t go jogging with us…” Every day. Every night after every game. I thought I could feel my ears sagging toward the ground.
A lesson? In any group effort, there’s always going to be friction. Someone’s always going to rub somebody else the wrong way. Someone will always be jealous. Very often the group’s objective will be all but forgotten in the competition for who’s the big cheese.
Sitting on the bench and sulking. The sheer joy you feel when Whatsisname strikes out (“Told him it shoulda been me in that lineup!”). Backbiting. Slowing down on the basepaths so the guy who just hit what should be a triple has to stop at first base because you loafed your way to second, just to show him. Show him what, search me.
No, I wouldn’t do it again–not if you pulled a gun on me. If there ever was a truly, purely thankless job, it’s managing a grown men’s softball team.
Believe me, I know.