The Heat of the Moment...

Competition is a funny thing.  It can bring the best and the worst out of a person.

I used to pride myself on the fact that I was never tossed from a game as either a player or a coach.  I had my moments when an official would warn me, but I was never tossed.

That all changed this past summer…  I was helping out with my son’s adult baseball team.  We were playing a rival, and someone we really wanted to beat.  This was the first year that my son’s team had come together, so they were still working out the mechanics of who played where, batting line up, etc.  My role was to provide some leadership and help with the decisions on the field.  I guess you could say I was acting as the head coach, but I hadn’t officially been named that this soon into the summer season.

Unfortunately during the summer months quality umpires are hard to come by.  Most of those in the region are either umpiring at the Little League, Babe Ruth or Legion levels, or hang up their chest protectors until next spring when high school baseball begins again.  On this day we had the unfortunate displeasure of getting two of the worst umpires I’ve ever had to share the field with.  Now, it may sound like I was bias from the start, but I did give both of them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they’d umpire a good game.

You could tell from the beginning that we were in for a long day with these two.  The strike zone was anything but, and the field umpire was too lazy to run to a bag and make an accurate call.  On several occasions both teams complained that the calls being made by both umpires were wrong.  What was supposed to be a ball was called a strike.  What was supposed to be a strike was called a ball.  What was supposed to be an out was called safe.  What was called safe was supposed to be an out.  It went on like this for six solid innings.  Probably the worst umpiring I’ve ever been a part of.

Late in the game our team was down a run, with the tying run at first and our big hitter at the plate.  We had one out and their pitcher was beginning to tire.  I was coaching 3^rd base.  We put on a hit and run, and both our guys executed it perfectly.  Our big hitter got the hit, and the base runner got a great jump on the pitch.  He rounded second and came hard at third.  The hitter passed 1^st and headed for second.  The opposite team decided to try and gun down our lead runner.  Our runner had great speed and easily slid into 3^rd, way ahead of the tag.  Of course, the field umpire (who hadn’t moved off the first base line) called him out at third.  He wasn’t anywhere near the paly and made a terrible called based on a bad angle.  I exploded!!  I looked at the home plate umpire and asked for help.  He told me he didn’t see the play and couldn’t overturn the call.  The other team was amazed as well.  They thought our guy was safe by a mile.  I ran out to the field umpire and asked him to explain how he could have possibly made the call when he wasn’t even close to it.  He told me I was not to question his decision, that the field was his to call as he chose, and that if I didn’t go back to the coach’s box he’d toss me from the game.  At that point he made the biggest mistake he could have; he bumped me with his chest.

There’s a basic rule that players, coaches and umpires follow – keep your hands and your body to yourself.  Unfortunately this guy failed to follow the rule and I lost it.  I think I was more surprised that this guy would actually bump me than I was by his ridiculous rant about it being his field.  I said a few things I probably shouldn’t have, and of course knew I would get tossed for the first time in my baseball playing and coaching career.  True to form, he used his authority and promptly tossed me from the game.  This has stuck with me ever since it happened.  In fact, I haven’t been back on the field since the incident.  It’s been too hard to forget.  I will be back, I just need some time to get over the fact that I let someone else push me that far.

I get why Seattle Seahawk’s Richard Sherman went off during an interview right after the NFC Championship game in Seattle last Sunday.  Here’s a guy who pours everything he’s got into the sport he loves the most.  He’s intelligent, plays clean, and works to be the best at his position.  After he deflected the pass that was intended for Michael Crabtree of the San Francisco 49ers, it sealed the victory for the Seahawks and guaranteed them a trip to the Super Bowl.  After the play Sherman went up to Crabtree, patted him on the butt, told him “Hell of a game!,” extended his hand out for a shake, and repeated, “Hell of a game!”  Instead of Crabtree taking the handed extended to him he shoved Sherman in the helmet and walked to the sideline.  After the game a reporter asked Sherman about the incident.  Of course with the emotion of the moment, the game saving play, and the fact that Crabtree said a few disparaging remarks in the off season about him, Richard Sherman exclaimed that he was the best and should not have been tested.  He also said that Crabtree was a mediocre receiver.

So maybe Richard Sherman crossed the line with his comments after the game.  Maybe I crossed the line when I got chest-bumped by the umpire last summer.  What I know for a fact is that when you’re passionate about what you do and what you believe in you’ll do anything to defend your team and your reputation.  Richard Sherman is being thought of as a “thug” because of his comments.  I was looked at as a ranting coach while I was being tossed off the baseball diamond.  That doesn’t mean I was wrong about my feelings.  It also doesn’t mean that Richard Sherman was incorrect about how he felt either.  What it means is that during the heat of the moment passion can lend itself to extreme emotion, both for better and for worse.  To be perfectly honest, I will take 11 Richard Sherman’s who want to be the best at their position any day of the week.  I will also continue to coach with passion and look for fairness every time I step foot on a baseball field.

A Common Man

Don't Run with Scissors, You'll Poke Your Eye Out!

My mom was never one to say goofy things like, “Don’t run with scissors in your hands,” or “Chew your food 20 times before you swallow!”  No, my mom has always been fairly down to earth.  She’s one of the most humble people I’ve ever known.

My mom started off as a California girl.  She was born in Culver City and lived there for a short time until she moved to Colorado, then eventually settled in New Mexico.  She met my dad in college.  They married, had me and set roots down in the small town of Tucumcari.  A few years later we moved to Albuquerque, and if not for a brief move to El Paso, it’s safe to say that my mom is a true Albuquerque gal.

My mom taught me independence.  She taught me, through example, how to survive when no one else was around to help out.  She taught me how to cook, do laundry, iron, and maintain a clean house.  She taught me the importance of church.  She taught me how to love.

One of the things that I cherish the most about my mom is her sensitivity to others.  Like me, she can be stubborn if she’s being pushed in a direction or path she doesn’t want to head down, but all in all she loves with her whole heart. 

One of the fondest memories I have of my mom was when I was twelve years old.  We had taken a family inner tubing trip to the Sandia Mountains.  My brother and I were climbing up the hill as far as we could go, then slide down as fast as possible.  I came up with the bright idea of daisy-chaining a group of us down the mountain.  I took the lead, and with 7 others interlocked together, we flew down the mountain with lightening speed.  As we were coming close to the bottom we started to veer to the right where a grove of trees sat.  I stuck out my leg to stop us from running into the tree, but the tree trunk was stronger and than my leg and it was my femur that suffered during the impact.  I can remember blacking out briefly, then gently sliding down the rest of the way to the bottom.  My mom knew right away that my leg was broken.  I wanted to stand up but she told me to lie there and wait for my dad to get the car.  I’m not sure how they got me into the back seat, but I do remember the ride to the hospital and my mom cradling my head and reassuring me that everything was going to be all right.  I also remember her talking with the doctor, trying to figure out how bad the break was, how long I’d be in the hospital, when could I have visitors, etc.  I stayed in the hospital for 30 days.  During that time she came to see me every day.  She brought me magazines to read, treats to share with my roommate, and keep me up to date on everything that was going on outside the hospital.

When I was finally released and ready to go home I was put in a body cast.  I would be stuck in that thing for six more weeks!  When we got home I found out that my mom had completely redecorated my room.  She painted the walls, put up cool wallpaper, rearranged the furniture and made it a special place to come home to.  She really put a lot of effort into making sure my homecoming was a joyous one.

You see, the thing I will always remember about my mom is her compassion to do for others.  She lives selflessly, and asks little in return for all the love and support she gives.  My mom is not only one of the most humble people I know, she’s also the strongest and the most independent.  I blessed to have her as my mom.  Her advice today is genuine and comes from the heart.  Thanks for always being there, mom!

A Common Man