Aww Shucks

About 5 years ago I was finishing up the general education credits for my Turf Management degree.

Physical education was part of those GE requirements. I would need to take 2 PE classes. Each class was only 8 weeks, half a semester.

The first class I took was tennis. This would be easy for me. I was the team captain on my tennis team in high school and I played in many competitive events when I was in my twenties.

The class instructor’s name was Wendy. Wendy was more of a personal trainer than a tennis instructor, but it was a beginner class and she had done this enough times that she was able pull it off. After a couple of days she could tell this class would not be very challenging for me. I ended up helping her teach the class. She would often pick my brain for new things to do in class and then we would try them out.

One day we were talking before class,” Hey Tom, do you need to take another PE class?”
“Yeah I was thinking about golf.”
“That’s probably some other sport you already know how to play. Why don’t you be a man and take my yoga class?”
“I don’t know....”
“It is the same time as this tennis class, starting right after these 8 weeks are over. It is always full but I’ll add you anyways.”
“Yoga...”
“Come on, come to a class that I really know something about.”
“Do very many guys...”
“Hardly any guys take this class. Just good-looking women. You should love it.”
“Well...”
“Don’t be a WUSS. Are you afraid you can’t keep up with a bunch of girls?”
She finally pushed the right button.
“OK, I’m in.”
“You won’t be sorry.”

The 8 weeks following the tennis class were “challenging”. Wendy was a genuine yoga instructor. I think she was teaching a power style of yoga. You had to be flexible, but most of the poses required a lot of balance and strength. She pretty much kicked my butt for 8 weeks, and I showed up everyday for it. And I wasn’t about to complain.

About 2 weeks into the class Wendy made an announcement. She was pregnant.
This would be her third child. She said that she would still be able to teach the class, but that she might have to tone it down a bit. I’m thinking this was my lucky day. Two poses later she was standing on one leg and had the other leg behind her head.

Yoga turned out to be one of my favorite classes, and not just because Wendy didn’t lie about the good-looking women.

The last class I took in college was a nutrition class taught by Wendy. She was well into her pregnancy. I didn’t she would be there at the end of the class. She almost made it. She missed the last day, finals, to have her baby.

I never got the chance to see her again after I graduated. Until...

... Last weekend when the Pink Puppies played the Blue Angels! Wendy’s oldest was playing for the other team. I was sure that was Wendy on the other sideline. She came over after the game with her family to say hello. She laughed and told me she knew I was a coach the moment she met me, and that she had a great time just watching me with the Pink Puppies.

I noticed that her youngest was a little boy and asked, “ Is that the guy who made you miss my last day of school?”
“Why yes it is!” she smiled.
“And what’s his name?”
“Tommy.”
“Really?”
“What can I say, I’ve always liked guys named Tom.”

Raise That Bar

Before the start of my soon to be legendary girls soccer coaching career, the league made all the coaches take a class on coaching soccer to eight year olds.

The instructor was some guy from England who took his soccer very serious. He was about my age but in much better shape. It looked like he still played.

He shared with us about how he has been to Wembley Stadium to see many great football matches. The San Diego Chargers and the New Orleans Saints will be playing a “real” football game there on the 26th.

I thought he did a great job. I took a lot away from his class.

One thing bothered me though, his expectations for this age group. I thought they were very low. He didn’t think kids this age should bother with the goalkeeper and that if the kids could just dribble the ball and change direction every once in a while the season was a success.

This year the kids are using a goalie. The field they use is much bigger and most penalties will be called except for offsides. They are playing a game with a referee, but nobody is supposed to keep score. Yeah right! Those girls know exactly what the score is.

Last year Alissa played flag football with the boys. I just realized that I never posted anything about that, what a lousy daddy/evil mutant blogger I am. Her coach (coach Weed, that cracks me up) had high expectations for his team. Coach Weed had "high" expectations, I'm killin myself here. He had a playbook that he expected the kids to know, by the end of the season, they did. He didn’t coddle the kids either, he wasn’t psycho football coach, but he was firm and the kids listened when he spoke. And they were a year younger than my Pink Puppies.

So I have taken that into my first season of coaching these little girls too.

I think the Pups are the best-prepared team out there. They know what to do when it is a goal kick, corner kick, or throw in. Our goalkeepers are aggressive and do a good job kicking or throwing the ball back down the field.

Their skills are improving too. They can already dribble and change direction. I’m working on getting them to pass the ball and use their left foot.

The main thing is that the girls have fun, and I think part of having fun is being successful. The Pink Puppies are having fun, and so am I.

Pink Puppy Training

Coaching my daughter’s soccer team has been ... different. Any coaching I have done in the past has not been for little girls. I would have used the term “little girl” to motivate teams that I have coached in the past.

Coaching girls is different, but my toughest problem has nothing to do with gender. Amanda and Dorian, the identical twin sisters are my biggest challenge. It is bad enough telling them apart, but these girls are wild animals. Any lapse in action during practice results in hair pulling, cartwheels, or somersaults.

I played soccer in elementary school and all the through high school. I know how to play the game. I also know talent, and these girls are pretty good.

I enjoy coaching, and I really enjoy coaching players.

Besides Alissa, my favorite player is a little girl named Malia. She is the smallest player on the team, but she has big game. It’s not that she has the most talent; she just plays harder than anyone else. Its like she is playing with a chip on her shoulder, trying to make up for her size.

This may sound bad but I do have a least favorite player. I won’t say her name but this sweetheart really pushes my buttons. This pink puppy likes to correct me. I don’t know many adults that like to be corrected by an eight year old.

“Amanda, I want you to take the corner kick.”
“Excuse me coach but that’s Dorian.”
“Is that right Amanda? Are you Dorian?”
Giggle, giggle, giggle, “Yes.”
“Told you.”
“You sure did. Why don’t you go take a lap.”

Suckaaaa!!!

“Is this Alissa’a Father?”
“Yes.”
“Hi this is Rick from Alissa’s soccer league!”
“Cool. When is practice?”
“Well, I’m not her coach, I’m the commissioner of the league.”
“Oh?”
“We can’t find a coach for Alissa’s team.”
“And because people often confuse me for David Beckham you think I know how to coach soccer?”
“Exactly!”

It is true that Rick couldn’t find a coach, but turkey balls actually said, “ I thought maybe because you were older than the other dads you could better manipulate your work schedule.” “Thanks Rick, let me turn up my hearing aid I didn’t catch the last part.”

I got the call 2 nights ago. First practice is tomorrow night. First game is a week from Saturday.

Right now we are team number 48, any ideas for a team name? I bet someone can guess what a bunch of 7 and 8 year old girls are going to name their team.

Fuk-u-do-me

Baseball season has begun and one of the early stories this week is the debut of the Chicago Cubs' new right fielder, Kosuke Fukudome (Fu-ku-dough-may). He was a stud in Japan and it looks me might be one here in the United States too. On opening day he had 3 hits, including a 3-run home run in the bottom of the 9th to tie the game. God I wish Harry Carey was alive to butcher this dude's name.

Go Mermaids!

How mermaids can play soccer is a mystery to me.

I think they are willing to trade in their flippers for a chance to play for coach Tavo.

Poor dude. These little "mermaids" own him. I think Alissa has Tavo tie her shoes at least twice a game.

That's the look of trouble. I'm sooo looking forward to the teenage years.

Being One Of The Guys

It didn’t take long for Nelson and I to become friends. Technically he works for me, but I think I treat him more like a partner. He actually has more experience than I do in golf course maintenance, but I have more management and life experience. We make a really good team. Everyone at MVCC knows we enjoy working together and people (our crew) enjoy working for us.

I make it a point to look out for my crew. The occasional box of doughnuts in the morning or ice cream in the afternoon goes a long way towards making these guys want to work for me. My boss says, “Save the receipt!” I tell him the treats are on me and I want the crew to know it. Buying sweets for the crew doesn’t give me a free pass to act like a jerk, I still have to treat them with respect, it just reinforces to them that I appreciate their effort. When you are a white male, and your crew is entirely made up of Hispanics that speak very little English, you better be able to convey that message.

Nelson takes these kinds of lessons from me, and I sponge information about golf course maintenance from him.

Last week, the mechanic at my course was challenged by his brother who works at another course, to a little game of softball. Nelson and I were invited to play. No other managers were invited. I thought that meant something and that we should go. I did have plans to see The Bourne Ultimatum with Sherri that night, but I cancelled on her so that I could do this. I felt that it was one of those times were it was just the right thing to do. Sherri understood, but I had to take her to the movie the next night at a later time (7:30pm). This sucks because I get up a 4:00am, but it was all worth it. The movie ruled, and the game was a blast.

Nelson drove us to a park called The Armory. This was not a place a couple of white guys would normally hang out. “ Dude, I’m not getting out of the car unless I see some of our guys.” I said. Luckily we saw some familiar faces, so we parked as close to the field as we could and got out.

I don’t know why these guys picked this park to play at. The Armory should have been called The Cow Pasture. The dirt infield was overgrown with weeds and grass. There were many holes in the outfield and infield that someone could easily break an ankle in. There was also a light pole in the middle of centerfield that came into play a lot; it was like 20 steps behind second base.

This game had a large turn out. It wasn’t the amount of players; it was all of the friends and family that came along to watch. There were probably about 30 people just to watch, and party.

The game turned out to be no game at all. MVCC opened up a can of whoopass on Sun City. We scored 10 runs in our half of the 1st inning and never looked back. Things stayed friendly and both teams had a good time.

After the game, it was “Get your picture with a couple of white guys night.” All the ladies had cameras and wanted pictures with Nelson and me. We posed with the ladies, we posed with families, and we even posed with the other team. It all made us feel very welcome, and glad that we decided to go.

I'm Not A Crazy Sports Dad...

… But I did get kicked out of Austin’s last baseball game.

It’s not like I was arguing balls and strikes or any of his calls, but I just didn’t like the ump. This guy looked like he may have played some ball, but got sidetracked with his drug dealing business, which failed, that’s why he is umpiring the game. Whatever it was he didn’t look like the kind of guy I would want my kids hanging around.

OK, so this is how it went down. Before the game as we were warming up, the umpire starts chatting with our pitcher. Friendly conversation is fine, but then he then proceeds to start coaching the kid. Me and the manger figure its just pregame socializing and that will be the end of it. Nope, that shit continues well into the game. He begins to start sharing his so-called knowledge with any kid that will listen, DURING THE GAME. This was very annoying, and slowed the game way down, but nobody wanted to say anything.

Also there was the problem of the way he made calls. No one could hear or understand what they were. Finally I had to say something.

I was coaching third base and I didn’t hear what his call was.

“Hey blue what was that call?” I yelled from third.

No response.

“ Hey blue was that a ball or a strike?” I yelled a little louder.

“Hey the only person I need to answer that question for is the score keeper.” He finally replied.

“ Uh, no everyone on the field needs to know what your calling, its part of your job description as umpire. Oh yeah, while we are on that subject, its not your job to coach my players, so stop talking to my players.”

“You need to keep quiet coach.”

“You need to get to work.”

“I will when you shut up!”

“Fine. What’s the call?”

“Strike!”

The game resumes. We are down 2 runs but begin to rally. We get a couple of guys on base and the opposing manager calls time out so he can talk to his pitcher. As he talks to his pitcher, the umpire begins to tell my batter what he thinks he knows about hitting.

“Hey I told you stop coaching my players!” I yelled.

“I don’t have to listen to you!” he chirped back.

“Listen to this. You are the umpire, you are Sweden, and you are supposed to be neutral. Stop coaching my players!”

He just looks at me.

“What’s the matter, you don’t know what Sweden is?”

“That’s it you’re out of here!”

“Wow, that’s the loudest call you’ve made all night!” I said, getting the last word in.

I walk off the field without any name-calling or dirt kicking. I just thought it was funny to get kicked out of a game without questioning a single call. I just wanted to hear the calls and for the ump to leave my players alone.

Well I guess this pumped up my team. The next six batters all reached safely. They went on to score 8 unanswered runs and won the game. The highlight of the rally was Austin crossing home and yelling, “That was for you Dad!” I know that sounds corny, but coming from my kid it sounded pretty OK.

Can I See Your Birth Certificate?

While watching Austin’s baseball game last night, I was reminded of a skit in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life.” This movie is full of gross tasteless humor. I highly recommend it. The skit I‘m thinking of is one of the tamer ones. It’s about what can happen to you if you don’t pay attention in class.

A young boy is not paying attention in his sex education class. This upsets the instructor very much. He has to stop boning his assistant to address the young man; “I’m not doing this for my own good! You must now play the masters!” Next scene is a bunch of skinny boys on the rugby field playing against a bunch of grown men. The kids are annihilated. (That was a very abbreviated version of the skit.)

That pretty much describes what happened to Austin’s team last night. The Angels destroyed them. It was painful to watch. These boys were supposed to be 11 and 12 year olds. I think 2 of them were shaving! One boy was probably 6 foot tall and 190lbs. There were at least 4 boys over 150lbs. Austin is the biggest kid on his team and he is only 130lbs. The eight remaining boys don’t even break 100.

These boys knew how to play too. Austin’s team has a hard time just playing catch. After 2 innings it was 15 to 1. There was no mercy rule, and all parents wanted it; hell the boys on Austin’s team wanted it. When they were told to take the field in the top of the third I heard, “You mean we have to play some more?” This team held nothing back. Even after they had their comfortable 14 run lead they kept stealing bases. After the 90-minute time limit had expired, they had finished 3 innings. The score was 22 to 1.

If Austin ever walks in on my wife and I having sex I will have to say, “Can’t you knock! You must now play the Angels!”

Run Forest Run...Stop!

Last week my son Austin had his very first little league game. Austin is 11 years old. Eleven is a little old these days to start little league. When I was a kid that was about the age, I started at 10. Kids start with tee ball at 5 or 6 now. I think the game is too hard to start that young.

This is also Austin’s first attempt at any team sport. I think the experience will be good for him. Unfortunately I’m not too excited about the league I signed him up for. The league is very unorganized and I’m not thrilled about the fields that Austin will be playing on.

The team he is on only started with 11 players on the roster. That number is now down to 9. That is not enough players. If one kid gets sick or has to leave town his team will forfeit the game. This is why I just about had a stroke on the way to Austin’s first game. The directions to the field I got from the league were so bad, I showed up ten minutes late. Let me tell you, this field was in BFE. It is a good thing it got dark and the field lights came on or I wouldn’t have found the place. Austin was the last player to show up. They had to start the game one player short. If we were 5 minutes later they would have forfeited. The coach had to be both pissed and relieved when we finally showed up.

On the way to the game I had a little talk with him about what to do in certain game situations. If he was lucky enough to get on base he would have no idea what to do, that is how new he is to this game. I tried to make it real simple for him. I told him just to listen to his base coaches, they would tell him what to do. I ended up being the first base coach that night. His coach had third base. We would have our hands full.

It was the top of the last inning. The game was tied 4 to 4 and Austin was leading off. Austin managed to get a walk. He didn’t realize it when it happened. The umpire had to explain 4 balls is a walk to him and that he was to go to first base. Nice. When Austin got to first I explained to him the situation, “OK, Austin you need to play it safe here. It’s a tie game. Don’t run unless it’s a wild pitch or the ball is hit.” Next pitch Austin runs half way to first and stops, realizing he wasn’t supposed to do that and runs back to first base. If the first baseman hadn’t dropped the throw from the catcher, Austin would have been out. I call time out and have a little heart to heart with my wanna be Rickey Henderson, “Did you hear a freaking word I said to you Austin? Play it safe!” Of course this all said in that quiet but firm voice that us parents use when we want to kill our kids but don’t want anyone else to hear us. I doubt there was a single parent or coach that didn’t know exactly what I was saying to my kid even though they couldn’t hear me.

“OK, Dad!” Austin said with an excited look in his eye that told me what I said just went in one ear and out the other.

Sure enough, the very next pitch, Austin is headed to second base. He should have been out, but his time the ball gets by the second baseman. Austin turns and looks at the ball. We are all yelling, “No Austin! Stop! Hold Up!” Austin is now on his way to third. This time he should be out by 15 feet, but no, the ball now gets by the third baseman. Austin turns and looks at the ball. “STOP AUSTIN, STOP!” Yea right, off he went. This time he was toast. Out by 20 feet.

They went on to lose 5 to 4.

I was genuinely pissed, but I couldn’t show it. The boys were just stoked that it was such a close game, or that they just got to play one. Although Austin screwed up, it didn’t seem to bother him, and he had a great time, which is what I want him to do, have a great time. But I am really torn about how I feel about this. There is an important lesson to be learned here and its not going taught. When I was playing ball, if I pulled a stunt like that my ass would be benched. This team has 9 guys. You can’t bench anyone. I think playing team sports is more than just “playing a game.” Austin disregarded what his coaches and teammates told him to do. He should be held accountable for that. Spending some time on the bench would be the only appropriate way to handle that. Its not like I can ground him at home for his screw up in a baseball game.

I've Played There...Twice!

This weekend is the AT&T Pebble Beach National ProAm. If you asked 100 golfers to name 3 courses they wanted to play most, I bet Pebble Beach shows up on 90% of those lists. I have played there twice. That’s one of the great things about Pebble Beach; it’s a public course.

Television doesn’t do justice to the true toughness of the course. T.V. tends to flatten a golf course. As a viewer, you can’t tell just how hilly a course is. Another toughness factor at Pebble Beach is the weather. I was lucky; the weather was perfect both times I played there.

I think the toughest hole for me was a par 4, hole #8. You cannot imagine just how tough it is unless you play it. The tee shot is completely blind. It is a shot that is up a hill and you cannot see the other side. When I played there, there was a sign on the tee box that said 200 yards to the ravine. Look at the picture, that ravine is a freaking canyon! Your second shot will have to be over that canyon, it will be about another 200 yards, and the green is the size of a postage stamp. So in short, you want to hit it as far as possible off the tee, but not too far, or you will go in the “ravine.” Then if you want to go for the green, you need to hit your best long iron or metal wood to a tiny little green.

If you are not a golfer you may not truly appreciate this post, but if you are a golfer, Pebble Beach is a “do-able” thing. The Monterey Peninsula is a beautiful place and there are lots of things to do for non-golfers.

Wanna Lifesaver?

Today I signed my son up for little league. It will be his first experience with organized sports. He is starting kind of late; he will be 11 in March. I am hoping that he will enjoy the experience of being successful on the field. It is hard to beat the feeling of hitting a grand slam after the opposing team intentionally walked the guy in front of you. The only grand slam I ever hit happened just that way. They even brought in their closer to pitch to me, which made it even sweeter, first pitch fastball, GONE!

I grew up playing soccer, baseball, and tennis. I was pretty good. I was never the best guy out there, but I did have the skills to play at a high level of competition. It was my interest in sports that kept me out of trouble as a teenager. I am hoping that this works for my son too.

I am not sure how Austin will do. He is an athletic little guy, but his hand-eye coordination is well…..lousy. His memory is a little sketchy too. I think he may have a hard time knowing what to do in some game situations. There’s a man on first, nobody out and Austin is playing second base. The ball is hit on the ground to him. Where should Austin throw the ball?

One thing that is really cool about my job is that I will be available in the afternoons and evenings for baseball practices and games. My father wasn’t. He worked the night shift for the police department. My mom would come to some of the games, but I wanted my dad to be there. I am hoping that I can do that for Austin. I want to be there when he hits that grand slam, or to offer him a lifesaver when he fails. Who remembers that commercial?