In My Quest to Remain Anonymous...

Whenever I evaluate my personality, I know that I have the capability of getting up front and leading a group. I have been a leader in several different organizations, can manage projects, and do very well when I am organizing events. The only drawback is that I don't really enjoy it. At all. Something about the randomness of life, how things tend to go wrong, and loathing the task of standing up and getting kicked, well, you get the idea, when things go wrong that are completely beyond my control. Years of being in charge have taken away the power trip of being the #1 guy, so I just want to be a quiet soldier in the framework of the world, working hard, doing a diligent job, and keeping my head low.

But there is some vacuous force in the world that keeps sucking me out to front stage center.

I know I've said it here before, but I don't want to be one of "those parents". *Thinks back to memory of Dad screaming on the sidelines during a soccer game*.

Flash forward twenty-something years and here I am: screaming on the sidelines during a baseball game.

What's worse: I got stuck on the slippery slope of parental involvement, leading from volunteering to help out at practice whenever I'm available to...wearing a very silly kid-sized baseball cap and standing on the field during the game, helping kids figure out where to run when the ball gets hit. How did this happen? Can't I just sit down and enjoy the game like any other parent without getting a guilt trip that I'm not "part of the solution" (Yo--60's flashback).

I distinctly remember this conversation:

Baseball team coach: "Hey, Mike, we could really use your help at practices whenever you are available."

Me (surprised, maybe a little flattered): "Oh, well, sure...I'll help whenever I can but sometimes I work some late nights and can't make it."

Coach: "Oh, that's no problem...we'll just need all the help we can get."

Then...a few weeks later, the phone rings.

Coach: "Hey, I really appreciate the way you've been helping."

Me: "Sure, Lance--it's fun."

Coach: "We went ahead and ordered you a hat and uniform."

Me: "Really? Well, that's a little surprising!"

Coach: "Well, you've been helping out, so this will help the boys know you are an official coach."

Me: "Oh." Thinking: AM I an official coach? Don't know if I really want to be...

Coach: "You want to be a coach, don't you?"

Me: "Well, I don't know..."

I know I sound wishy-washy, but I felt like I was put on the spot. I always tell Ryan to stick to his commitments, so I didn't want to get suckered into a commitment without thinking it through--in fact, I know I'm going to miss some games and practices and I damn sure don't want to shirk an implied committment which I didn't even make.

Coach, clearly irritated: "Well do you or don't you?"

Me (now feeling like a jerk that is asking this guy to volunteer his time to coach my son but not willing to join him. Also, feeling like I'm about to get me and/or my son ostracised from the team by coming across like a flake, but resenting being put in this position. What am I, some kind of spineless idiot getting talked into this? Don't you just want to sit on the bleachers like the other parents. Why can't you be like the other parents: FREAK!)

"Well, Lance, do I have to say 'yes or no' this minute?"

Coach (pausing): "No. Just let me know when you decide."

So nothing else was said. At the game, I was asked to go and "coach third base", which means that I dictate to these 7-year-olds whether they should keep running or stop at the base. Pretty easy to determine, right? I mean, my whole function is to just watch the play and give them some instructions.

Oh, I am so naive!

I promise that I have no delusions of grandeur, but this duty seems to have weight that I never saw before. I will do my best to avoid boring baseball jargon to spare those of you who could care less (and who have probably stopped reading by this point anyway--trust me, this explanation is needed to demonstrate how much of a self-conscious freak I am).

It turns out that there is a rule for these boys that they need to stop running when the ball is "under control" by a member of the infield. It also turns out that this is a very subjective concept--how do you determine if a 7-year-old is in "control" of the ball? Where on the field does the "infield" start and end? There is also split-second timing as to whether or not the player should keep going or stop. There are a variety of styles of coaching the boys: from a very aggressive style to a very conservative style.

At this age, there isn't a referee on the field, so the coaches and parents are on the Honor System to officiate the game and interpret the rules, which makes things a little squirmy at times.

During the first game, I was extremely conservative. If there was any question, I would just have the player stop running and stay on his base.

The next thing that happened was unbelievable: I started getting heckled by the parents of our players! Just a couple of them, but they started telling me "You should have told him to run, Mike!" I took this very personally (I know, I'm stupid to do that). I kept going over it in my mind, replaying the situation and thinking that maybe I could have kept the kid running.

It's only 7-year-old kiddie baseball, for God's sake! What am I doing worrying about this?!

Another funny thing that happened: There is a somewhat complex rule that we never brought up to the kids--if the ball gets caught in the air, they have to return to their original base immediately. Well, this situation happened, and of course the kid had no clue and I didn't have time to sit down with him and deliver a dissertation on the concept. He ended up getting out, which I suppose spoiled his dad's expectation of a major league career for his son--he was clearly irritated that it was all my fault for poorly instructing his boy during the game. The dad sidled up to me after the game and stood there, waiting for me to apologize--seriously.

Keep in mind: I'm just trying to keep my head low and get through this life without having to claim responsibility for everything that happens around me.

On to last night: Our coach has now decided and informed me that we are going to adopt a philosophy of more aggressive base-running. Now, our team previously protested when another team's coach was using this philosophy, so this promised to make life interesting. But, to his credit, our coach told the other team's coach before the game that we were going to play with this interpretation of the rules, and they agreed to it.

So, of course, here's Mike: stuck in this position of making base-running decisions for the boys and getting stuck out on the field (and last night I was right in front of the bleachers for the opposing team) to live with the consequences of the plays, especially when it goes in our favor and against the other team. We beat them 12-1, so they were quite disgruntled. By the end of the game, parents and coaches were making comments and complaints under their breath, which made me feel uneasy. Hey, I'm just trying to get through life being the good guy!

It's so funny how being conflict-averse got me into this crazy set of circumstances where I'm in such a controversial and conflict-filled position. Will I ever learn?