If I had power over the universe for a day, I'd allow such love to be ended only after the age of 18.

I had two things that were a little unusual in high school. I had a deep voice and a great outfield arm. An incompetent boob of a coach who would later call me a "faggot" in front of my brother wore out my arm something fierce trying to make me what I wasn't--a pitcher. I swear, this guy would make Tom Lasorda look like Florence Nightengale in the way he handled pitchers.

As a teacher, I sometimes violate a simple rule by using the real power I have in the classroom--I'm fairly good sized, have a deep voice--to exorcize my petty irritations at the expense of my students. By confessing this, some might see me as someone who should be out of the classroom but I would argue that my awareness of this is what makes such incidents so uncommon and more easily remedied. It's the awareness of such mistakes that makes us human. Those who feel such mistakes should never be made don't want human beings teaching their students and as a parent, I understand that but it ain't happening.

I think Josh's coach was blinded by something. I know my coach was blinded. It's probably the nicest thing either of us could say about them.

I was a pretty good player through high school, but I was buried on the bench on what amounted to I didn't have a dad who was out their buying equipment or funding the program.
Later after high school, I played for my old little league coach on his JC team for one year when he gave me a call on the phone and told me "that kind of bullshit won't happen on this team."
It's amazing what some jackass who is given charge of a little league or high school team can do when given the power.
I always appreciate Dom Gaudiosa who played one year of back up catcher on the Chicago Cubs for that phone call. I also appreciate the fact that once in little league when I thought I was a hot shot pitcher and was show boating in practice by throwing batting practice like it was a game, he stepped up to the plate and drilled every pitch I had to any field.

I played in a church league when I was twelve, my only experience in "organized" baseball. My first couple of practices went well, so I was the starting second baseman and leadoff hitter for the first game. In my first at bat, I doubled and stole third. In my second, I walked and stole second and third (it should be noted that all these steals happened because the catcher dropped the pitch).

While I was standing at third base that second time, my coach whispered to me to take off for home the next time the catcher dropped the ball. Sure enough, he did and I slid in just below the tag. As I lay there in all my dusty glory, the ump leaned over and said, "Go back and tell your coach you're not allowed to steal home in this league."

I probably failed to hide my disappointment as I relayed the news, and later dropped a throw on a steal attempt by the other team. Next game, I played center field and batted.....twelfth (church league, as mentioned). If playing baseball is a love affair, I fell for the girl just as her family climbed into the van and moved to the next county.

Josh, your story causes me to recall my last "real" organized game like it was yesterday.
I haven't thought of this for years. Bittersweet, bittersweet, I knew that it would be my last game with the coach, who I grew to love and respect.
Is there anything better than sharing competetive experiences, than with someone who believes in you whole heartedly, no matter the outcome?
Little did I know, that would also turn out to be my last "game".
We players were twelve and thirteen years old. He was coaching to help his son have a good experience, as he was probably one of the least athletic players in the league.
He didn't play his son as a favorite, his son didn't start.
The coach said that he had played a liitle pro ball, getting up to the "C" league.
We practiced on a school yard diamond.
The first practice, he took off his first baseman's mitt and threw it down in the dust and said "This will be our home plate at practice for the rest of the season."
"This is the glove that I used in the last game that I played."
Well, I was incredulous, I picked the glove up from the dirt, dusted it off and handed it back to him and said something like,"How can you do that to your glove? It's a great glove! There's nothing wrong with it! We're going to wreck it!"
He dropped the glove back to the dust and told us all, "I don't need this glove anymore, you guys do. This will make a fine home plate for our practices. It might even bring us a little luck." He then lit a cigarette, blew out some smoke, and told us to go play catch and get loose.
I was the catcher. It used to kill me everytime a kid would come in to score and stomp on that glove. A couple of the guys seemed to take a special delight in this.
At the end of each practice, I would help gather up the stuff and dust the glove off and hand it to him, it wasn't very long before the glove was flat as a pancake and didn't really look like much of a glove anymore.
I loved to play, we all did. I didn't have the reputation as being much of a hitter in this league, coming into the season. At our practices, he got me to try a few simple things with the stance and the bat. Our first game I went four for five and got on with an error the fifth time and we won the game. Everybody was so excited so about it. After the game he asked me, "So how does it feel?" "Great", I said. He looked at me and told me, "You can do this all the time, if you want to." I ended up being the top hitter in the league that year. He even had a buddy that he said was a scout come out to watch me play.
Man, that guy sure made that season fun for me.
He gave me a gift. Sweet memories that live on.
You do great work Josh.

I'm loving these stories.

I did a big disservice to my former little league coach by spelling his name wrong. Dom Gaudioso and not Dom Gaudiosa. Sorry Dom.

You made the right move swinging away in that situation. The coach was acting like a complete tool.

From time to time, I think about the last game I played organized baseball and definitely think of it as bittersweet.

It was sunny day late in the summer of 1990 and I was pitching for my hometown American Legion team in Upstate New York. As I was warming up I could tell my arm wasn't throwing with the same velocity it was used to. (I would later determine that I had what is now termed "dead arm" issue.) It's not like I was a flamethrower or anything, but I had enough success to attract close to 100 colleges (mostly non-scholarship athletic programs: DIII's, IVY league, etc.) interested in my pitching abilities. I was pretty scrawny at that time, maybe 5' 10" and 150 lbs if I was lucky. I did, however, have pinpoint control and absolutely hated to walk guys. (I actually had more hit-batsman than IBB's that season). Anyhow, in this last game I got lit up by the opposing team giving up 5 earned runs in less than two innings and was removed for another reliever. It was the shortest outing of my scholastic pitching career.

Having watched Barry Bonds (ASU), Pete Incaviglia (OSU), and Roger Clemens (UT) on ESPN, I dreamed of playing at a D1 program and in the College World Series. As such, I shied away from smaller college programs that were offering a chance to compete on the next level. I tried out as a walk-on at Michigan State but never got the chance to redeem myself. I never thought that would be my last game.

8 : Thanks for sharing that great story.