So, you’re asking about Pendleton Junior Baseball, eh? Yeah, I’ve had my share of experiences with it, more than a few innings under my belt, not as a player anymore, mind you, but from the sidelines and, well, sometimes right in the thick of the організаtional… let’s call it ‘fun’. My journey, or my ‘practice’ as I like to call these little life involvements, started when my youngest, Tom, decided baseball was his calling. Seemed simple enough at first.
First off, getting him signed up. That was an adventure in itself. You’d think in this day and age, it’d be a smooth online click-fest. Nope. It was more like a scavenger hunt for the right forms, figuring out which ancient community center bulletin board had the correct dates, and then hoping you caught the volunteer coordinator on a good day. We got it done, eventually. Paid the fees, got the ill-fitting t-shirt that was probably ordered three sizes too big for everyone on purpose.
Diving In Deeper Than Expected
Then came the call for volunteers. You know how it is. They’re always short-handed. My wife gave me that look, and next thing I knew, I was an assistant coach for a team of nine-year-olds. Talk about a learning curve. Not the baseball part, I played a bit in my day. No, the parent part. And the equipment part. And the scheduling part.
Let me tell you, it wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine. It felt like we were always scrambling.
- Finding enough practice balls that weren’t totally bald? A weekly quest.
- Getting the field chalked before a game? Often a last-minute panic.
- Coordinating who was bringing snacks? More diplomatic negotiations than you’d see at the UN.
And the different philosophies! You had Coach Dave who was all about hardcore drills and winning, even with kids who were still figuring out which hand the glove goes on. Then there was Coach Sarah, bless her heart, who just wanted everyone to have fun and get some sunshine. Me? I was stuck in the middle trying to make sure no one cried and everyone got to hit the ball at least once. It was… a balancing act.
I remember this one particular season. We had this equipment shed, right? Supposed to be organized. It looked like a raccoon family had thrown a party in there every single night. Bats from different eras, helmets with missing pads, bases that had seen better days back when color TV was new. I tried, I really did. Spent a whole Saturday sorting it out, labeling things. By Tuesday, it was chaos again. That was my ‘practice’ in futility, I guess. You realize pretty quick that some things are just bigger than one person’s weekend effort when you’re dealing with a community league run on fumes and good intentions.
It wasn’t all bad, don’t get me wrong. Seeing a kid finally get a hit after striking out for weeks? Priceless. The cheers, the little fist pumps. That’s the stuff that kept you coming back, wading through the emails about who forgot umpire duty or why the game schedule changed for the third time. You see, the actual baseball part, the kids playing, that was usually the best part. It was all the stuff around it that made you want to pull your hair out sometimes.
I guess my main takeaway from my Pendleton Junior Baseball ‘practice’ was that it’s a labor of love for most involved. A messy, sometimes frustrating, but ultimately heartfelt effort by a bunch of folks trying to give kids a chance to play ball. It’s not polished, it’s not perfect, but it’s there. And for many kids in Pendleton, it’s their first real taste of being part of a team. You just gotta be prepared to roll with the punches, and maybe bring your own chalk line and a few extra baseballs.
