Strat-O-Matic Baseball 365

On another thread, I read Moose's note about his father having been his little league manager for a year, leading his team to a 14-2 record. It got me thinking about coaches and managers that I have known. Some were horrible (that's another thread), some okay. But one was extraordinary: Mr. Hill. A thin, chain-smoking man of indeterminate age whose favorite epithet was to call us "basket cases" (we had no idea what that meant). But mostly he provided us with a wonderful sense of justice and pride. We were a minor league little league team, the Astros, not really very good, but somehow by the end of the year we were champs of our little world. And the next year, too. I can't really put my finger on what made him a great manager: the hugs at the end of practice after having had us running to the fence; the encouragement, he knew we had something in us, each of us something different. I've looked for that in my coaches since and have never really found it. I don't what happened to Mr. Hill, but 35 years ago his wisdom touched me and has been with me ever since.

If you have had great coaches or managers, why not let us know? We could all use some positive news from time to time.

And if you know a great coach or manager, or a great teacher, or a great friend or a great colleague, let them know. Think how wonderful it would feel if someone told you that.

Bill

My story is somewhat similar in that we had a rag tag team that our manager somehow molded into a winning team by the end of the year. If I had to put my finger on one thing that made Mr. Pettis a great teacher and manager it was his unflappable patience. This was a Joe DiMaggio league (I don't think Joe DiMaggio baseball even exists anymore) for 16-18 year olds and most of had played with or against each other in other youth leagues or high school. But we were definitely not a team but Mr. Pettis turned us into a team with his patience and hard work. He drilled us constantly on fundamentals but never got angry when we faltered, he just said let's try it again until we got it. Mr. Pettis was a tall wirey man who always had a toothpick in his mouth (remember U. L. Washington with the ever present toothpick?) who could hit the most accurate fungoes I have ever seen. Seriously he could pick a spot anywhere on the field and hit a fungo right to that spot. This made our constant drilling that much more effectve. But as I said it was his patience that has stuck with me all these years. I only saw him get angry once and that was at an umpire who had made a horrendously bad call. Still all Mr. Pettis did was go out and tell the ump that he was seiously mistaken without raising his voice much. In fact the only way we knew he was really angry was the explitives that he muttered under his breath on his way back to the dugout. There were no Earl Weaver/Tommy Lasorda histrionics. I always respected Mr. Pettis' cool, unflappable patience. Sadly he did not come back to work with us the following year but he had made us into such a good team that we won our division again.

Growing up, I would hear my father talk about his baseball experience in his younger days being an exceptional pitcher with a sidearm delivery and a knuckleball which just seemed to float around until it disappeared somewhere in the batter's box. Having caught him in practice, I could never find out how he could control such a pitch. I dismissed it as natural ability and talent. He also coached us in baseball where he was the manager, an old-school manager. Basics, basics, and basics. Backing up a play was mandatory, bunting was mandatory, even using your brains once in a while didn't hurt either. He enjoyed hustle and told the players to walk-off an injury and get back in the game. He taught us how to 'play' the game but didn't teach us enough 'about' the game which we learned later on. He never yelled much at an umpire because he knew they weren't professional and were just out there to make a couple bucks on a weekend or weekday from the league. He just made out his lineup card, shook his head, and handed it to the opposing manager before game time. Some of the other managers would stress that 'fairness had no place on the ballfield'. I guess they went through WWII or something and felt that taking out aggressions on the neighborhood was the thing to do. Win or lose, we always had hotdogs after the game.

Sincerely,
Delivery Boy and his Dad.