While many people around now are dying for the ground to thaw so they can hit the garden or break out the bike, I’m thinking about baseball. As the pros and high schoolers begin, so soon will the little leaguers. And as a youth baseball coach for four years, I’m pumped. But that’s not to say I haven’t learned my fair share from the experience “in the trenches,” so to speak. Not in the sense of, “They ended up teaching me.” I’ll leave that crap to Remember the Titans. No, my experiences have been quite different …

You Can Call Me …
I went into my first year of coaching telling myself, “Man, you’re gonna be the cool guy coach you always wanted. Yeah, that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re not gonna be some drill sergeant screaming at kids, demanding they call you ‘Sir.’ ”

I was pretty confident. So when the time came for introductions, and they sat in front of me on the grass, I tried to be suave – without too much cocky swagger – as I told them not to bother calling me Mr. Kupfer or Coach Kupfer. Respect isn’t in a name, but in a demeanor, I would say. “So go ahead and call me Trevor, or if you’re not comfortable with that, just Coach.”

I could see what little amount of confidence they had instantly drop from their scared stare, as if to say, “Oh, so I have to worry about this now, too. Thanks, Coach. Thanks a lot. Now I have a complex. And I hate you.” It was a very vivid stare.

I should have stopped there, but I was feeling particularly cool. “I don’t even mind if you come up with a nickname for me. So long as you get my attention, we’re good.” Little did I know that this group would decide to cling to – are you ready for this? – Captain Morgan. And, in turn, my mental image of impressionable youths evaporated, and I would learn never to give that option. Ever.

Encouraging More Exposure
When I was their age, I thought I knew everything there was to know about the sport. Hit it, field it, throw it, run – what’s the big deal? I wouldn’t truly come to understand the intricacies of the mental aspects of the game until years later, so I ended practices and games by encouraging more exposure to baseball. “The Brewers are playing tonight; watch the game. The Express are playing tomorrow; drop by. The Little League fields are always open; call up some dudes and play home run derby. And the new MLB: The Show game just came out; go play that.”

But again, I should’ve known to stop short, because the second they heard an authority figure advocating video games, they instantly forgot the rest.

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Eventually, I’ll Hit a Kid
I couldn’t pitch batting practice to anyone, anywhere, without fearing The Bean Ball. So I knew it was inevitable that I would drill some poor defenseless kid who trusted me. It’s just fate.

So, when it did happen, thankfully the kid wasn’t laying in the dirt writhing in agony. But I could see what little amount of confidence they had instantly drop from their scared stare, as if to say, “Oh, so I have to worry about this now, too. Thanks, Coach. Thanks a lot. Now I have a complex. And I hate you.” It was a very vivid stare.

I still don’t know the “right way” to react, but my brain defaulted to familiar territory. I swear I became possessed by my father, laughingly saying, “Whoops. Sorry about that. Heh heh. But, you know, it’s good for ya. Puts hair on your chest.” Just about every kid on the team had to dive into the dirt at one time or another.

Weeks later, when the team finally broke me down and got me at the plate with a bat, guess where that first pitch went. Yep. Right for the eyes. Touché, young sir. Touché.

Dealing With Hormones
Everyone remembers the middle school era: discovering girls, dealing with body changes, and sticking it to every authority figure in the path of destruction. That said, I expected to police some degree of tomfoolery.

So when they’d act particularly infantile, playing the repeat-what-I-say game or purposely doing the opposite of what I asked, I put my foot down. “Come on, guys, you know better than to act like toddlers.” So, of course, they all started mimicking infants. Ugh.

What I eventually had to do is recognize that this is a rite of passage. And all I can do is let hormones win, ignore their actions, and not let it get under my skin. Or else say something really sarcastic for my own satisfaction.

Say Anything
At the start of the season, I made it a point to stress the kind of open-door relationship I hoped we’d build. I’d be more than open to talk to them about whatever is on their mind.

I said this thinking they’d come to me to vent about their spot in the batting order, where they’re playing in the field, or how much they play. Hardly.

One player confided in me about his parents’ divorce. Another needed to divulge a sensitive domestic situation. And at least a couple were struggling with schoolwork. In all instances I could tell their relief in just having someone to verbalize their feelings with – someone who’s a little more experienced with the world than their friends.

I’m no social worker. I’m no parent. I’m just a dude who looks like Captain Morgan.

Once I made them call me coach, stopped mentioning video games, was OK with beaning kids, brushed their hormones aside, and learned to fill whatever mentoring role they needed me to, everything fell into place. I’ve yet to coach a team with a losing record, and the players from my second season who stuck with baseball to the high school level even got to the state championship last year. I like to think Captain Morgan Coach Kupfer had at least a little something to do with that.