Dear Jay, Jedd, Kevin and Rich:
I think I get it now. I think I finally understand.
The anxiety. The elation. The pressure. The sleepless nights. The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat (or of something worse).
I finally understand what it’s like to be a head coach. After serving as an assistant for several years for my older son’s Little League teams, I decided — amid a unique set of circumstances — to assume the head job for the first time.
Of course it’s not the same. I get that. You guys — the coaches I’ve chronicled on the Arizona baseball and football beats — face, or faced, a level of scrutiny very few truly can comprehend.
But at its core, we’re all striving to accomplish the same thing, right? This profession — well, your profession, my passion project — is really about positively impacting the lives of young people. Mine just happen to be a little younger than yours.
I’m the head coach of the Intermediate, or 50/70, team for Cactus Little League (formerly Freedom/Palo Verde; we merged this past fall). Intermediate is a relatively new level of play for kids who’ve aged out of what most people would consider Little League (12 years old and under). The 50/70 designation refers to the distances between the mound and plate (50 feet) and between the bases (70). It’s an opportunity for kids who aren’t ready to let go of baseball yet aren’t quite ready to play on a big-league-sized diamond.
I had eschewed previous opportunities to serve as a head coach because my spring calendar is generally full. Your sports take up a lot of time. Covering them also happens to be my job.
But this year is different, because last year was different. The pandemic prevented Little League from happening — a heartbreaking outcome in the Lev household and countless others.
My older son, Austin, was supposed to have played his age-12 season last spring. That’s the one all devoted Little Leaguers look forward to the most — the one that leads to the Little League World Series.
Austin was going to play with his buddies for maybe the last time. It was going to be the time of their lives.
Many tears were shed when it didn’t happen. We managed to make fall ball work — gaiters up, boys! — and had a blast doing it. The seed was planted to run an Intermediate team this spring if enough kids signed up — and if we could get somebody to run it.
I tried to make it work because I wanted my son and his friends to have a positive experience. The past year-plus has been rough on them — on all of us, really. The kids deserved an opportunity to get outside, play ball, hang out with their pals and just have fun. I know you’ve witnessed that this spring with your guys.
I was determined to provide that same outlet for Austin and his teammates. The schedule gods were kind as well, keeping my work conflicts to a minimum.
I missed only one spring football practice and part of one Little League game. The former happened to be on the night of our first game, which I couldn’t miss. We won on a walk-off wild pitch, and Coach Fisch and I briefly bonded a couple of days later over both being “undefeated.”
I’ve got bad news for you, Jedd: It won’t last.
Our team is 3-6 heading into Saturday night’s game against Western. Two of the losses have come by one run, including a game in which we coughed up an 8-3 lead in the last inning. I don’t have to imagine what it’s like to be second-guessed about a defeat like that, because I’ve been on the other side many times. This spring, it has become an exercise in self-reflection.
Our sub-.500 record isn’t for lack of trying. The boys have played with exemplary effort. Their coach is borderline obsessed.
During the preseason, we would practice on Saturdays at 8 a.m. I set my alarm for 6:30. I got up at 4:45 one time and couldn’t fall back asleep. Too many thoughts were swirling in my head.
Should I adjust the practice plan? Who’s throwing bullpens today? What might our lineup look like?
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat staring at a spreadsheet as the clock ticked past midnight, desperately searching for an edge or an answer. I’ve come to learn that baseball can be a fickle, even cruel game. You only have so much control.
Take that blown 8-3 lead, for example. It wasn’t the worst thing that occurred that night.
One of our kids, whom I’ve known for years, suffered a broken arm while diving to tag a runner at the plate. It was a horrifying conclusion to a half-inning that his dad aptly described as the “perfect calamity” — an unfortunately familiar series of errors and misplays. Every loss this season has featured one inning like that.
Everyone was deeply concerned about their fallen teammate, who’s going to be OK. I wasn’t sure what to tell the kids, aside from assuring them that he’d be all right and telling the tale of my own diamond mishap (broken leg) and subsequent recovery.
On the ride home and in the days that followed, I kept going over the sequence of events.
What could I have done differently to prevent that accident from happening? How could I have coached my team better to make those plays and end the game?
I felt responsible. Such is the burden of leadership.
The good times far outnumber the bad, though. Being a head coach has been an immensely rewarding experience.
But you guys knew that already.
Best,
Coach Lev
