Back when my son was 9, he was on a top travel team in our state. He pitched and played outfield, even though he wasn’t an outfielder. The coaches and dads on this team were intense. Every error was a catastrophe. They’d throw up their arms. They’d groan. They’d yell. When my son was in the outfield, I walked on eggshells, worried he’d mess up and trigger that reaction. In one game, two balls were hit to right field where he was playing. He could have caught one, maybe, but both dropped. After the inning, the father of the pitcher, a big heavy loudmouth guy who thought his son could do no wrong and was destined for greatness and couldn’t possibly give up a legitimately earned run, walked over to where I was standing in the outfield.
“He should have caught those balls,” he said under his breath.
I wanted to kill the guy.
We all know that we probably shouldn’t curse at kids when they make an error. When my son was seven, we were on a team with a shaky catcher. In one game, the catcher kept letting the ball get behind him.
“Get him the fuck out of the game!” a father shouted from the stands after another pass ball.
Everyone was horrified and the game literally stopped as the dad’s words sunk in.
The other team’s coach then hurried out of the dugout. “It’s okay,” he reassured everyone and then explained that the dad who had cursed was the father of the catcher.
There was a collective exhale in the stands, and nervous laughter, and the game resumed.
I would say cursing at your kid or anyone’s kid crosses the line, but what about general grousing. We live in a world where the traditional wisdom tells us that complaining is a vice and something that should be stamped out. Yet a new school of thought counters that some complaining (not excessive) can actually be a helpful tool to process emotions like stress. And what’s more stressful than watching your kid pitch?
For example, this past weekend we had an early morning tournament game in the freezing cold against one of the top teams in the state. Since my 14u son isn’t a flamethrower, he was going to have his work cut out for him. Even our coach wrote us the night before the game to “expectation set” against this team.
The first hitter was a tall sinewy kid wearing a black thermal compression shirt under his uniform that that rose up and covered his face up to his eyes. He took a strike. He took a ball. And then he crushed my son’s third pitch for a double.
I had set up my folding chair by the gate along the third base line by the start of the turf outfield. I get nervous during my son’s games and don’t want to be around other people, and had chosen that spot to watch because the other parents were all closer to home plate. When my son gave up the double, I groaned under my four layers of clothing and shivered from the cold and my teeth chattered. I knew he might not make it out of the first inning.
When the second batter hit a towering pop up to second that was caught, I breathed easier, and I envisioned him settling down and making it through the first unscathed. How impressive would it be, I thought, if he put up a 0 against this team?
But then the next two kids got hits, and it was 2-0.
Another couple kids got hits before he finally got the third out. On the plus side, he was competing and hadn’t given up a walk. But still the score was 4-0.
In the second inning, he got multiple kids to pop up in the infield but the team kept dropping the ball.
“Come on,” I exclaimed. “Catch the ball.”
You couldn’t give a team like that more than three outs in an inning.
My son should have given up no runs that inning, but at the end of two it was 9-0.
In the third inning, with one out, there was a grounder right to the second baseman that should have been a double play. Instead, the kid booted the ball.
“Come on,” I said and threw my arm in the air.
My son then struck out a kid, and he was only one out away from getting out of the inning without giving up a run. The batter popped up to third but the third baseman dropped the ball.
“Make a play,” I said, probably shouting.
These are human reactions. I was living and dying on each pitch. But I also knew this wasn’t the 1919 Black Sox, and the fielders were obviously trying to make plays. Yet, with each error, my son’s pitch count was rising, the inning was being extended, and there was a chance my son was going to injure his arm throwing so much on a freezing cold day. His teammates should realize that burden, I thought, and step up. But I also know in baseball you have to face adversity and ideally overcome it, and for a pitcher, errors in the field are part of that adversity.
Later that day, I was watching the Phillies on TV.
“You need to make that play,” I shouted at the TV when the second basement didn’t range far enough to his left and the ball went through to the outfield.
“What are you doing?” I exclaimed after another play.
“Give me a break!”
It struck me that my reactions to the Phillies’ perceived shortcomings were very similar to how I reacted earlier in the day when the fielders didn’t make plays behind my son. So perhaps I was allowing my fan behavior to creep into the youth games.
When my son was playing on the smaller fields, I parked myself in the outfield far away from other people, where I could say stuff under my breath and occasionally raise my voice, and nobody could hear me when I said inappropriate things (kind of like “if a tree falls in a forest” situation). But on the bigger field where the outfield is far away, and often not accessible, I’ve had to relocate closer to other parents, who may be able to hear me.
Whatever your view on complaining, you should always remember that sometimes what we as parents see as errors are not really errors. It’s like how people wear those shirts that say “When My Son is Pitching, They’re All Strikes.” The worst thing you can do is teach your kid that he’s infallible and he should blame others if something goes wrong and not look inward.
So in sum, while there is no crying in baseball, a little complaining is probably okay. Just make sure that you’re being somewhat objective and don’t overdo it.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT COMPLAINING IN BASEBALL? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS.
For information about the emotional side of baseball, see:
- Should You “Reclassify” Your Kid for High School Baseball?
- I Spent 30K on Youth Baseball Last Year; Here’s How
- Youth Baseball: Why Do I Care So Much?
- Anger Management and Youth Baseball: How to Calm Down
- How to Manage Your Kid’s Baseball Tantrums and Meltdowns
- 4 Ways to Respond to a Coach Playing Favorites
- How to Stop Being a Crazy Baseball Dad
- How to Be a Good Baseball Dad in the Backyard
- Is It Now Fashionable to Hate On Baseball Dads?
- Are Local Little Leagues Bad for Baseball?
For information on hitting, see:
- How to Get Out of a Hitting Slump
- 4 Best Baseball Batting Aids (No. 3 is Free)
- 4 Hitting Drills You Need to Do Before Every Game
- 4 Old School Baseball Drills You Need to Be Using
- 6 Mistakes to Avoid When Buying a Baseball Bat
For information on pitching, see:
- What You Need to Know About Little League Elbow
- 4 Ways To Increase Your Kid’s Pitching Velocity
- Is the Circle Change Dangerous for Youth Pitchers?
- Why I Don’t Let My Son Pitch in Little League
- How to Make Sure Your Kid Isn’t Overpitched in Basebal
For ways to get faster, see:
great articles! I totally relate