What Kind of Dad Would Do That?????????

So, the season opener CYO baseball game this spring has me in charge as one of four assistants filling in for the head coach, who couldn't make the game. Little did I know that the experience would end up with me being accused of being an unfit dad.

Debut on the big field for most of our kids and playing under the lights for the first time ever against a team that we knew was strong. No pre-season practices because of the inevitable spring rain, but everyone was relatively comfortable as we relished our role of road underdogs.

Had plenty of notice that I would be head coach, so spent some time during the previous 48 hours and thought I had both of those crucial elements covered - - enough pitchers and catchers.

WRONG!

My backup catcher forgot to bring his cup (athletic supporter protection)and my primary catcher was also my backup pitcher. The dominoes started to fall the wrong way when my first pitcher tired and started missing the strike zone while approaching his pitch limit.

Couldn't use my intended second pitcher, because he had to catch since my cupless backup catcher was ineligible to play that position.

Couldn't put someone else's son into the position of having to throw strikes against a topnotch team, under the lights, in unfamiliar surroundings from major league distance for the first time in his life.

But, I could do it to my own son, right? He was a pretty good strike-thrower on the Little League field over the past three years, but had never pitched to a single batter from the Major League distance.

So, he warms up and enters the game in the bottom of the fourth, bases loaded, nobody out, down 3-1 and facing a law-and-order umpire whose strict strike zone had done in my starter.

A little while later, Mike's line was impressive -- depending on your interpretation: two innings pitched, no hits, five strikeouts and, well, six walks. Tack on a couple of errors and we were down 8-1 and well on the way to a lopsided loss.

Later that night at home, Mike's moping around and talking to his Mom in the next room. I wander in to cheer him up and all of a sudden Kathi chirps loudly, both rhetorically and accusatorily:

WHAT KIND OF A FATHER PUTS HIS OWN SON IN TO PITCH WITH THE BASES LOADED AND NOBODY OUT WHEN HE'S NEVER PITCHED FROM THAT DISTANCE BEFORE IN HIS LIFE? YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!

Mike is standing next to her, hanging his head like some poor, homeless waif, wrongly accused of stealing a loaf of bread.

"YEA, DAD!," Mike chimes in in a distressed tone of voice. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT."

It doesn't get much worse for a Dad who's usually just trying to get through the day. Fortunately, I saw a little smile creep up on the corner of Mike's face. They were putting me on.

I pretended that I knew the scam all along and fired back, defending my actions with the original rationale -- I couldn't have reasonably done that to any other mother's son.

Truth is, Mike relished the challenge, loved the spotlight, survived the crisis of confidence and actually appreciated the fact that I started him at shortstop even though five other kids had listed that as their position of choice.

Next day, wise guy fellow assistant Dad-coach who had to leave early sends me a text saying, rhetorically and accusatorily:

WHAT HAPPENED? IT WAS 1-1 WHEN I LEFT. THEN I HEAR WE GOT BLOWN OUT. WHAT GIVES?

I replied that it was a tough night for the Griffith boys, who wouldn't have had it any other way.