from MLB.com
Mychael Urban
Baseball Perspectives
June 11, 2003
You've probably seen or heard of the cute little book that suggests we learned all we need to know in kindergarten. Where exactly chowing down on paste fits into the big picture of life remains a little uncertain, but the premise pretty much works. So, too, then, does the idea that everything one needs to know about fatherhood can be learned through baseball. After all, the two institutions are already joined at the hip; rare is the fan whose first experience of the game didn't come courtesy of dear old dad. And with Father's Day upon us, now seems like a natural time to look at some of the links between our national pastime and paternity.
Patience: Waiting is a huge part of baseball. When you're playing, you wait for -- among other things -- a good pitch, your turn to hit, a new pitcher to warm up, and the ball to be hit your way. As a fan, you wait even more. For tickets, for an open urinal, for the slob in front of you to pipe down, for your team to dump the fat-salaried, underachieving first baseman, etc. Big lessons there, because as a father you'll be waiting a lot, too. For the baby to stop fussing so you can change a diaper, for the toddler to finish flinging peas around the room, and -- brace yourself -- for the teenager to get home from the first night our with your car.
Perspective: Whether you're playing the game or enjoying it as a fan, you'll eventually learn that wins and losses are not the end of the world. Baseball has failure built into its fabric, and so does fatherhood. It's like walking through a mine field. Teach the young-un to ride a bike, for instance, and you'll feel lousy when the first crash produces a bloody brow. But hey, even Dick Van Patten made mistakes, and if you know baseball, you know that those three hits every 10 at-bats feel awfully good. Same deal when, after you've decided your child has ignored everything you've tried to teach, he or she looks right into a stranger's eyes and says, "Thank you."
Sacrifice: As a player you learn it by hitting behind runners, laying down bunts, diving to make plays and barging into a well-protected catcher. As a fan you learn it by sitting through rain delays and 11-1 losses just to show your support. As a father you apply it by happily taking on that second job, saying no to a free golf outing to catch the little one's basketball game/barely organized free-for-all, and passing on the sweet pale yellow Tommy Bahama shirt because it just doesn't make financial sense for the family. You're giving something up for the greater good, and only the truly unselfish will do it.
Responsibility: Question 1 -- Runner at second with two out, 3-1 count, you're at the plate and your team is down one. Are you looking for ball four, which would put the heat on your teammate on deck, or are you looking for something to drive? Question 2 -- You're the starting pitcher and you're still out there in the ninth, holding a one-run lead. You walk the leadoff man. Manager comes out to see if you're OK. Do you tell him you're gassed or do you insist on finishing what you started? If you picked the second option in either case, chances are you'll be a great dad. Real men step up.
Humor: Baseball is a funny game. That's why we so look forward to blooper reels, and why practical jokes are a clubhouse constant. You need to be able to laugh at yourself as a father, too, especially when you're in the third hour of trying to assemble the playpen or train set that the manufacturer says should have taken you 30 minutes.
Strength: Power pitching is mostly legs. So is picking up a crying 8-year-old. To be a good hitter you need to extend your arms, and that skill will come in handy when catching the Limoge box said 8-year-old just knocked off the mantle. Baseball stresses the importance of emotional strength, too, and if you can handle a 1-for-27 slump, weathering a little brother-sister spat in the back seat -- "Are too on my side!" -- should be a snap.
Tolerance: Everyone had teammates they didn't like. You know, the ones who sulked after a win if they went 0-for-4 and were OK with going 4-for-4 in a loss. Or the ones who back-stabbed everyone out of earshot. Well, those experiences should help get you through the hell that can be Little League. Bad teammates grow up to be bad baseball dads more often than not. Just grin -- even if it means slamming another orange slice into your mouth -- and bear it.
Confidence: Remember that day when you absolutely hammered a nasty curve from the best pitcher in the league into left-center for a double? Or the day you struck out the 6-foot-2, suspiciously hairy 12-year-old with a slight moustache when you were 10? Or the day you threw the speedster out at the plate to end a one-run win? All of that will serve you well as a father, because kids are like animals. They can smell fear. So if you're going to try to teach the little one how to do long division, you'd damn well better sound like you can do it yourself -- and be able to should they call your bluff.
Creativity: Baseball has the hidden-ball trick and stealing signs; shifty yet legal means to an advantageous end. A good dad takes that kind of thing into the real world by bribing with lollipops and the like.
And finally ...
Unconditional love: You learn this more as a fan than as a player, in that you love your team no matter what. Haven't been to the playoffs in a million years? Love 'em. Out of the race by May 15? Love 'em. Signed a fading 39-year-old pitcher to a five-year deal? Still love 'em. That's how it should be with children, too. Good, bad or otherwise, they deserve more love than you can probably give, but just like Cubs and Red Sox fans, they keep trying to give more.
P.S.: Happy Father's Day, Hal. Nolan Ryan is a distant second to you on my hero-meter.
