We’re Going To Sizzler

I try to avoid giving advice.  My take on advice is simple . . . . who am I to give advice?  Do I have opinions?  Sure.  Do I have suggestions?  Yeah.  But unless someone flat out asks me for advice I truly try not to give it.  I am an expert on nothing.  I hold no advanced degrees.  I have had no less than six jobs over the last 10 years and a retarded monkey could have done a few of them . . . . . and I got laid off from one of those.    And according to my father I am not good at anything, and have not an ounce of athletic talent whatsoever.  So again, who am I to give advice?

However, the other night my 9-year-old son’s Instructional League baseball team overcame a four-run deficit in the bottom of the sixth inning to pull off a 5-5 tie (no extra innings in the 9-year-old Instructional League . . . and thank God for that).

While our boys were celebrating I watched as the opposing coach pulled his entire team into the dugout and screamed at them.  Though I admit that I could not hear specifically what he was saying, I know he was yelling at them for not making a couple of routine plays (again they’re 9 years old. . . . I can assure you that there are NO “routine plays” at this age) and for not holding onto the lead.  A few of the boys were crying.

Now I know what you’re thinking . . . . I walked up, intervened and offered the coach some heartfelt advice on how to better conduct himself during his post-game speech.  Hell no.  Don’t be ridiculous.  The guy was verbally abusing a group of 9-year old boys, his face was turning red, and he was holding a metal baseball bat in his hand, there’s a time and a place for intervention and that wasn’t it.  But it did get me thinking . . . . is this simply yet another case of a guy who’s just overly passionate about youth sports, or was there something else going on? 

It turns out that the reason this guy was going so crazy after the game is because his son was the pitcher in that 6^th inning where our team mounted their comeback.  He was irate that his son had allowed our team to get some hits which in turn resulted in some missed plays in the field.

So instead of telling his son and his team that they had done a nice job to hold onto the tie (we actually had the bases loaded there at the end, and his son wound up striking out the final batter), he tore into them.  Instead of trying to find the positives (and at times I will admit it’s hard to find a lot of positives in 9-year-old house league baseball . . . . it really is quite painful), he focused on the negatives specifically because his son had not come in and performed like Mariano Rivera. 

And I chalk this up to nothing more than yet another dad who believes his kid is MUCH BETTER than he really is, and then because of that belief he holds his kid to a much higher standard, and expects him to perform at a level that he is simply not capable of performing at.  He is basically setting his kid up to fail more often than not.  The kid never gets to go to Sizzler.  If he’s 2-for-4 on the day with a run scored and an RBI, it’s not enough.  No Sizzler.  If he pitches three strong innings giving up just a couple runs, it’s not enough.  No Sizzler.  And even when he has that monster day and goes 4-for-4 with a game winning RBI it’s still not enough as that’s simply the standard that his father thinks he should be producing at all the time.  There’s still no Sizzler.

So, here’s my advice to all the mom’s and dad’s (yes there are plenty of mom’s out there who believe that their kids are way better than they really are) . . . . . be realistic with your kid’s athletics and take them to Sizzler every so often. 

Yes, the whole “Sizzler” thing stems from the 1992 Wesley Snipes, Woody Harrelson movie ‘White Men Can’t Jump,’ and no, I’ve never been to a real Sizzler restaurant and for all I know the entire Sizzler franchise may have gone out of business, but I still joke about “Going to Sizzler” whenever my kids have a good game.

Listen, be realistic here.  After all, you’ve probably been bouncing or throwing or kicking a ball with your kids since they were first sitting up in their cribs.  Though you may not be a professional baseball or basketball scout, you should have an idea of exactly how good your kid is by the time they’ve hit their house leagues.  Sure, kids develop athletically at different rates, and a kid who’s just mediocre at the age of 10 could wind up being a really good player four or five years later, but for the most part you pretty much should know whether or not you’ve got an athletic prodigy on your hands by the time he/she is 10 or 11 years old or whether you’ve got a nice house league player on your hands. 

And since it’s probably the latter and not the former, why don’t you treat them as such.  Forget the Division One scholarships.  And forget the seven figure signing bonuses.  It’s not going to happen.  And that’s okay, because chances are you too didn’t go to school on an athletic scholarship and you too didn’t sign a lucrative deal with a pro team.  Most people don’t.  So relax, and enjoy your kid’s sports for what they are. . . . an extracurricular hobby.

And for the love of God . . . . take ‘em to Sizzler every so often.  A pat on the back after a rather “routine” day at the plate or on the mound will go a long way in keeping them happy and motivated.

Last weekend my 12-year old son’s travel baseball team had a scrimmage game with another travel team.  This is my son’s first year playing travel ball, so he is a little nervous as he’s playing with a group of boys who have all been playing travel ball for three or four years now.  To make matters worse, and to guarantee that he would stick out even more, his travel uniform hasn’t come in yet, so he was wearing a borrowed uniform from a friend. 

He played well, and in fact made a number of very good plays at 2^nd base including one where he legitimately robbed a very good player of a sure extra base hit.  He went 0-for-3 at the plate, but hit the ball hard once (in fact getting robbed by the other team’s 2^nd baseman of a sure base hit). 

When we got into the car to head home I looked at him and said, “Hey that was a nice first game.  I thought you did a good job.  What do you say we go to Sizzler?”

Chase looked at me and said, “Thanks Dad, that was fun, I really liked playing 2^nd base, but can we go to Burger King instead?”

That’s my boy.