compare it to today, I sometimes feel as if I'm comparing a time as distant as
the Paleolithic era. It seems so far past, so distant and so unrecoverable. I
recall wool uniforms, wooden bats, ball fields close enough to walk to, long
afternoons of pickup games with neighborhood friends and real dirt. I recall
the "old man down the street" helping us with hitting and fielding, only to
find out years later he was a former big league player and negro leaguer.
How many kids today can say a negro leaguer that played with Satchel Paige
taught them how to catch a ground ball?
The images are shadowy and probably over romantisized in my mind, but
what I clearly remember is a simpler game, more emphasis on kids having fun,
and much less emphasis on winning at all costs. I don't remember needing
multi-million dollar facilities, fields soaked with poison (called weed control),
calcined montmorillinite clay, $300 bats, $200 gloves and my parents spending
thousands of dollars per year on a game. I don't remember raging,
manipulative, agenda driven parents, paid coaches, wealthy booster clubs
and 80 game seasons for ten year olds. I don't recall traveling across the
country, in fact, I don't recall traveling more than maybe ten miles. I don't
remember anyone suffering from burn out before they reached high school.
As I surveyed the landscape at my son's 14 year old baseball tournament in
Millington, Tennessee today, these things weighed heavily on mind. Every
tournament, both as a coach and as a parent, I continually ask myself
"What's wrong? How can we get this game back under control? Are the
current trends really good for the game, and more importantly, are they good
for our kids?"
I also thought about what I believe are the unique characteristics and
virtues (?) of baseball in the south. Southern culture is highly unique, and
as I often attempt to explain to my children, just because something has
culture, that doesn't imply it's very sophisticated or even good. While
there are many admirable aspects of our culture, particularly our beautiful
women, good water, abundance of wildlife, music, apple pies, moon pies and
RC Cola, there are an equal number of aspects that a rational, thinking
person would find alarming.
For example, on the way to ballpark Alex and I came across a lovely eating
and drinking (with the emphasis on drinking) establishment decorated with
the Confederate battle flag. I'm sure Harpo's is a fully integrated
establishment that pays fair wages to workers of all races and backgrounds,
as long as the race is white and the background is Christian and criminal
(not mutually exclusive). While my daughter is home for college this summer,
I think I'll encourage her to see if she can get a job waiting (dancing) on
tables. I mean, after all, don't we want our kids to have a full range of
cultural experiences?
Millington exists as a city thanks to the presence of a Navy base, something
I've always thought was odd, since it's 450 miles from the coast. But I feel
safer knowing it's there, especially in this age of global terrorism, when the
United States title as the leading exporter of terror seems to be under
attack from Middle Eastern extremists. Approaching the ball fields, you get
the feeling you're in Afghanistan. The ball park is situated in a large open
area adjacent to the military base and surrounded by old water towers,
abandoned jets, rusty fences, dilapidated buildings, acres of dust and little
shade. It's really a depressing site, but full of oddities, like the occassional
flyover by World War Two era planes that made you feel like you were in Tora
Tora Tora.
And while we're on the topic of the combustion engine, another thing you'll
quickly notice about southern ballparks is the extremely high number of V-8
equipped vehicles. Southern ballparks are V-8 heaven. Every decent,
gawd-fearing, southern boy has one or aspires to have one, since you might
have to go off-road at any moment, despite the miles and miles of asphalt
that connect every ballpark to every house in the county. No SUV or
pick-em-up truck is fully equipped without a various array of decals proudly
displaying your allegiance to country, sport or criminal organization. Some
even display their disdain for work, a habit that most likely contributes to
our high divorce rate. That's pronounced "dee-vorce" in the southern tongue.
Another favorite pastime in the south is eating barbeque pork, baloney,
chicken, beef and turkey. Basically anything that moves. Add the daily
twelve-pack, and you're faithfully rewarded with the southern beer belly,
another "must have" for any good southern boy or woman. Barbeque nachos
are popular, too. That way, you can combine lots of cheese, chips and hot
sauce with your barbeque, guaranteeing that your cholesterol count shoots
completely off the charts. As the waist lines expand, so does the demand for
cardiologists and cardiology clinics, a good thing, since that fuels the
construction and funeral industries, and therefore the economy.
I suppose any adult is free to make their own choices, but what can we do
about children? Isn't it really child abuse to allow your child to become grossly
obsese and most likely setting into a motion a life long struggle with weight
control and health issues? Over the years, I've noticed an alarming number of
obese children, particulary at ball parks. The concession stands are full of
junk food and the profits for the team putting on the tournament are heavily
tied to the concession stand sales. There's never any fruit, but there's always
a burgeoning supply of candy, sugared drinks, burgers with cheese and pork
rinds. Is this really what we want for our kids?
What would an essay about Dixie baseball be without mentioning the mullet?
Southern baseball parks are like being in mullet mania, a dream-come-true for
Joe Dirt types, sporting the latest in mullet fashion. If you're named Travis,
Dalton, Bubba or BJ, chances are good you'll be sporting a mullet at some
point. And mullets are not just for men! Women have mullets, too. This
weekend, I noticed a mullet couple at the park, both enjoying a good pack of
Camel's while whistling Freebird and contemplating on why their family tree
doesn't fork.
But I digress. What does this have to do with returning baseball to the good
old days? Nothing I suppose, just observations on a particular day about a
particular place and a particular culture, the culture of southern baseball.
In the end, most of the kids have fun and many go on to play for collegiate
and professional teams, realizing childhood dreams and achieving perhaps
some degree of financial security. Beaming parents get to see little Billy hit a
triple, bring home a trophy and develop a sense of pride and
accomplishment. So no, it's not all bad, but it can be better.
The first step to making it better is for each and every parent to make a
commitment to make it better by fostering a spirit of cooperation and
placing competition in proper context. We need to remember these are kids,
and the number one goal is to have fun and the secondary goal is to learn
and improve. Easier said than done, I know, but what are the consequences
of non-action? After all, baseball is a game, but the lessons we teach our
kids are not part of a game, they prepare them for how they will respond and
react in a high stakes event called life.
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