What made it worse was that Eric is their coach and some parents take it pretty serious. I knew going into it that we probably wouldn't win because, until this year, we have always played by the rules in Louisville. In the league there that all of our other boys grew up in, they are taught to run through first base in t-ball--not to round all of the bases and try to get home. The outfield is taught to throw to first. In this league, they are taught to throw to home. In Louisville, the hitter advances--usually--one base at a time...unless the batter has an unusually good hit. Then he might advance more.
All season long, I saw the angst in Eric as he 'tried' to play by these different rules, yet he still had the other system ingrained in his head--a system he believes in a little more. The result? He just didn't overemphasize running the bases. This seemed to work fine because runs aren't really kept track of in t-ball; they don't even turn on the scoreboard.
Until tournament time.
During tournament week, they post the score for all to see and so there was the score big and ugly last night-- 29 to 8. Not only did our Racers not make many runs, they looked like they had kind of forgotten all the things Eric had been trying to teach them this year. They looked like they had never played before. I can't tell you how many of them ran through second and then got tagged for an out! After awhile, it kind of got comical. At least to me. But I might have been the only parent trying to suppress my smile.
Owen--having older brothers--paid attention to the score. It completely mattered to him. When I walked over to the dug-out in the middle of the game he said, 'Mom, we are getting killed!'
Luckily, at this age, all you have to do is over-encourage about something they did well and they are suddenly happy as a lark. I bragged on how he caught a ball in the prior inning and his frown was replaced with a smile two sizes bigger than his head.
I think Owen and the dads in the stands were the only ones being bothered by the score. After the game was over, as our team went to shake the hands of the other team, one of our players yelled, 'did we win?' A mom, in true Mom-like fashion, replied, 'You'll always be winners in my heart!' But Owen killed the moment, yelling, 'Did you see the score? We got demolished!'
I once again suppressed my smile.
A few minutes after the game, the boys were given their participation medal. Eyes shone, including Owen's, as the scoreboard was long forgotten. In the end, all a six year old really cares about is taking home some hardware.
Still, in the car on the way home, Owen lamented, 'Wow, I really can't believe we lost 28-8!'
His older brother Jeremiah, quickly corrected him: 'It was 29-8, Owen!' He didn't even realize he was rubbing it in. He just likes to be right. All the time.
As we tucked Owen into bed, he optimistically said, 'You know, we were winning for a while.'
Eric quickly agreed, 'You're right, Owen!' Thankfully, Jeremiah smarty-pants wasn't around to comment on the fact that we were Visitors and when the other team came up to bat they scored 9 runs.
Today, Eric sent out his final email to the parents. I love this part:
I hope your All-Star had a fun season and learned a little bit along the way. I really wanted to win last night and keep going, but the team we played was an experienced team and has been together the last few years. The expansion Racer’s had a tough time hanging with them.
So that was the end for the expansion Racers. Eric's first and last dance as a T-ball coach. If you talk to him anytime soon, be easy on him.
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