(#61)
On a road trip in the spring of 1999, some players were caught partaking in the illegal, underaged consumption of alcohol which is strangely called an “adult beverage, “ which was a violation of team rules, especially on a road tip. I certainly wasn’t looking for it, but it came to my attention so action had to be taken.
The names of the boozers have been left out to protect the guilty. Some may have become preachers, or teachers, or fathers, or coaches, or politicians, or alcoholics, or other leadership positions and I don’t want anybody to get “canceled.” You know who you are. Okay, I can’t remember exactly who they were.
I know this is not the only time “the ingestion of central nervous system depressant drugs” has ever happened under my watch. You know, as the parents say, “boys will be boys.” So I tried to find a creative punishment that might get the message across to these and others that when you are under my supervision and you’re representing the college and team, there are some things that are just not appropriate. It was not the time or place to play the little adolescent games. These kinds of things have ruined many great baseball trips, believe me and I’ve never understood why it has to happen and probably never will.
I needed something that would turn boys into men, at least for a little while… a little respect, so to speak
Here’s how I handled the next day when we got back to Raymond:
We met at the baseball stadium. It was raining. From the baseball press box I chose to play Aretha Franklin’s great hit, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, on the public address system and had it blaring as loud as I could. You could hear it all across the campus and even as far away as Bolton and Edwards and it was played while the culprits ran what I called the Beer Bottle Relay.
Play the video while you read the story to add the full effect. 🙂
From the south side of Hinds Boulevard across the street from the baseball field, the boys ran what seemed like a never-ending relay, one person at a time, using an empty beer bottle as their baton. I made sure it was an empty bottle to reduce the temptation to rip it open and drink it. I actually bought the beer, showed them their relay baton, unscrewed the top and very slowly poured it out right in front of them before we got started. They all groaned. I enjoyed that tease.
I sat down in a driving rain storm, under an umbrella, leaning against a fence at the top of a hill by the football field and watched the players sprint, one at a time, across the practice football field and up the hill to touch the fence, then back down the hill and across the practice football field to hand the “baton” off to another one of their partners in crime. They repeated this routine over and over and over and over. The song repeated over and over and over and over.
I decided we were going to stay there until they got it right or until I felt like the message had been delivered and received, or until somebody came to me and told me to turn off that loud music, until somebody collapsed or until we all got struck by lightning.
The point was made. The lesson was learned. Oh, there was a little occasional “regurgitation” going on. I reminded them gently with my bullhorn for them not to forget to properly “hydrate” themselves when they finished. I must say, they each took it like a man, I never had to raise my voice and nobody quit… or died. It was a great way to spend a rainy afternoon.
It was better than an AA meeting.
Needless to say, I was the only one who seemed to really enjoy it.
And every time I hear that song all they years later, I just smile.
I wonder what they think when they hear it?
Rick Clarke's Diary of a Mad Baseball Coach 