Let the Kids Play

Grace, Baseball, and Grown-Ups Who Should Know Better

Photo by Magnus Andersson on Unsplash

Paid subscribers, I ask for your forgiveness for not sending you an essay last week. I was away with my son at a baseball tournament and completely lost track of the days of the week.

We are back to our regular schedule.

It starts with good intentions. A couple of dads sign up to coach. A few parents agree to help with uniforms and snacks. A Saturday morning is given to chalking foul lines and raking the infield. The goal is simple: teach kids the game, provide them with a safe space to play, and perhaps instill a few life lessons along the way.

But somewhere between the first season of T-Ball and the first round of kid pitch playoffs, something shifts. The dugout gets louder. The parents get tenser. The coaches start arguing calls with a 13-year-old umpire. And before you know it, what began as a community effort to teach the game turns into a pressure cooker of adult expectations. Some relive glory days, while others try to manufacture them for their kids.

Youth sports can be a gift. But it’s a fragile one. And far too often, adults (sometimes with the best of intentions) smother that gift in a fog of performance, ego, and control.

Just last weekend, I heard a coach drop F-bombs at batters standing in the box. The next day, my son’s team experienced parents cheating and lying about the age of their own children, all to win a tournament that ultimately means nothing. I’ve heard parents yell at volunteer umpires over borderline calls in a game with no standings that gives out medals to every kid at the end. I’ve seen dugouts where players are afraid to fail because they know someone in the bleachers is keeping score, not of the runs, but of their worth.

Too often, youth coaches act like they are Earl Weaver managing Game 5 of the 1970 World Series, forgetting these are children learning to love the game, not professionals chasing legacy.

What are we doing?

More to the point: what are we doing to our kids?