By Thrown Away Dad
All the American communities that “Do Little League” have their own ways, customs and rules. Things such as the beginning of the season, the scheduling of games and practices, ceremonies at the beginning and end of the season, and one of the most important and least agreed upon is how players are divided up onto the different teams. In the community where I coach, a late Winter time, indoor tryout is held where one by one, each child will field a few ground balls, make a few throws, and then take several swings with a bat at a practice ball attached to a long stick.
Although we call this day the tryout, a more accurate word for it would be the evaluation. All of the coaches are there watching each of the boys as they take their turn demonstrating their abilities, or lack thereof, and then days later their is an actual draft of the players by the coaches. Again, the word tryout implies that some of the boys will not make the team. All of the boys end up on a team. The boys that perform the best during the tryout are chosen early and the ones who perform poorly of course end up being chosen last.
In an article I penned one year ago, I explained how my ex used an Emergency Order of Protection to stop me from being able to attend the tryout for the 2012 season. At the time, my goal was simply to survive her attempt to have me removed as my son’s coach, and I did survive and keep my gig as a coach, however I soon learned that the move she made dealt a fatal blow to what would become a long hard season for the team I referred to as “Green”, (the color of our shirts).
Because I was not allowed to attend the tryout, I was blind on the day of the draft. Furthermore, my concern during the draft was simply to get it over with and run away as fast as I could because on that day I still had the Emergency OP hanging over me, and again this was explained in the article that I penned last year.
Green was collectively younger than all the other teams and short on talent. Green could best be described as the Bad News Bears without a Cinderella story. All through the 2012 season I had to keep reminding myself that my goal was simply to survive as a coach despite being a divorced father with the typical ex wife who is constantly scheming and sniveling around. One positive outcome of our 2012 season is that numerous players on that team who had never before gotten out of the grass, (meaning previously they were always stuck in the outfield), were now playing in the infield sand with some even pitching and catching. It was refreshing to watch their skill level improve with each passing game, but as sports goes, the competition improves as well. All but one of our games was a loss. We endured a number of blowouts. We had a number of close misses that were absolute heartbreakers. We ended up with a record of 1 victory and numerous losses, and it is a record that my ex is very proud of and broadcasts loud and proud to anyone who will listen.
I distinctly remember last year talking with a friend of mine and explaining to him that I could not attend the tryout and why. My friend is unfamiliar with the Single Mother court system and he absolutely insisted that an Emergency Order of Protection cannot be used to stop a man from performing his duties. My friend adamantly told me that Emergency OP’s are only for protection and that I cannot be arrested simply for attending a Little League tryout. The secrecy of the Single Mother courts and the refusal of the media to expose them leads to mass ignorance of what our Single Mother court Judges are getting away with. Sadly, it is true that most people agree with my friend. Even more sad is that fact that today, probably 99 percent of Emergency OP’s are intended exactly to stop the man from performing his duties, whether it be as a father, as a coach, at his home based business or at his employment. Emergency OP’s have become nothing more than a freebie bargaining chip or a power play utilized by our heroic Single Mother’s at the time they choose to expel the father, or even years later when the pesky father who refuses to go away needs to be reigned in or handicapped in some way.
January of 2013 rolled around and it was time for players to sign up and for potential coaches to fill out a form if they wished to coach. Of course, I filled out the form knowing that due to last year’s results I would probably not be chosen. However, the phone call came in late February that I had been chosen and the word went out to all the parents, including the Heroic Single Mother, the day and time of the tryout. This year, I was prepared. Because I anticipated the Heroic Single Mother would again go to court and tell the Judge that she wanted another Emergency OP, (that is all it takes), I informed the gentleman who would be my assistant that I might be unable to attend the tryout and asked if he could he attend instead.
If my visitation weekend did not fall upon the weekend of the tryout, I literally would have went into hiding on the Friday morning before the Saturday tryout so that the cops would not be able to find me and serve me with the Emergency OP. However, my visitation weekend did fall on the tryout weekend so I had to show up at the usual time to pick up my son and hope my son would be waiting for me instead of a County Deputy with the Emergency OP in hand. Last year when the County Deputy served me with the OP, I simply stood motionless and silent while he read through the list of locations and persons that I was prohibited from being within 300 feet of. When he was finished, he told me that he had two sons of his own that he loved very much and would do anything for. I wanted to ask the clown if he believed that because he had children, his serving me the OP was “ok”, but I remained silent. He then asked if I had any questions. I would have loved to ask the clown a few questions, but I simply shook my head back and forth. That occurrence was the third time one of our Single Mother Court Judges handed out an Emergency OP against me so I was very familiar with the procedure.
On Friday afternoon, I was prepared to endure the same thing all over again. Frankly, I was stunned when I saw my son instead of a Deputy. I even took a look around to see if a Deputy was approaching. There was not. As me and my son drove away, I kept checking my rearview mirror thinking they were simply late and would catch up with me. I felt like a man who had just broken out of prison, constantly looking around to see if “they” are coming to get me. Then I started asking myself what had happened. Is it possible that the Judge refused her request this year ? Absolutely not, I know better. Is it possible that word got around last year as to why Green’s talent level was so much lower than the other teams and the Heroic Single Mother was shamed for her actions ? Not in this society.
During the 2013 tryout, I felt absolutely relieved and vindicated regarding the previous years poor performance of my team. I was amazed at how visible each boy’s skill level showed with just a 2-3 minute evaluation period. Skill levels ranged from the poor child who tries to fit the ball glove onto their throwing hand, to boys who today look like they might be serious contenders to play minor league ball some day. If you are going to Coach competitively in this community, you absolutely MUST attend the tryout. After already having held a few practices, I can already see we have a much higher talent level than last year’s team.
This is now the fifth year that I have attempted to coach or volunteer as an assistant coach for my son’s baseball teams. On year number 1, I was told to not even bother filling out a coaching application because they preferred fathers who live in that community. I showed up to practices and games and observed that the gentleman coaching the team already had another gentleman acting as his assistant. In fact, I will never forget the day I introduced myself to that coach and asked him if I could have a copy of the game schedules he was handing out. He apologetically told me that he only had enough schedules, “for the parents”. On year number 2 I did not even bother asking if I could fill out an application. However during the first practice, I observed a new coach throwing batting practice without anyone to catch for him, so I quickly grabbed my glove and caught during his batting practice and this landed me a gig as his assistant coach. On year number 3, I pulled a very similiar stunt with a still different coach and landed a gig as the assistant. On year number 4, I felt “qualified” enough to fill out an application which led to the adventure as written about last year.
Now on year number 5, not only am I coaching, but I am coaching without a handicap. It takes just a moment to let the last sentence sink in. Practically any married father in America today can coach his son’s little league team simply by volunteering to do so. Because the skank I foolishly married wanted a divorce, it took me 5 years of trying to get to equal footing with the married fathers.
I get rather amused when the Single Mom’s of my players approach me with one BS story or another about how their ex husband might not bring Junior to the game, or Junior may not be at the practice because the ex husband is such a dastardly man. All these Single Mothers are trying to find yet another bloke who agrees with them that their ex husband is a really bad guy. What is amusing is how their negative comments about their ex husbands come to an abrupt stop upon obviously learing that the coach himself is an ex husband.
I coach in a lilly white community and fully half of my player’s moms are single moms. I rather enjoy approaching the other thrown away fathers and asking them if they can help out in one way or another. Of course, these men always jump at the chance to help out because it is giving them an opportunity to be a little bit more of a father to their son than the Single Mother Court Judge allows them to. And I just absolutely love to watch the single mothers grinding their teeth while these good fathers are allowed to more fully fulfill their responsibilities as fathers to their sons.
