Take It All Off

At Magnolia Academy we always seemed to lose to our neighborhood, arch-rival Mississippi Baptist at least once each season. Either we played differently when we played them or they played differently when they played us. Or both.

But it could have just been facing crafty pitchers like Bo Kirby and others, who were masters of screwing with the heads of their friends. The Saints (an oxymoron) loved their annual upsets of the mighty Raiders. You could set your clock by it. I bet they still celebrate these wins every ten years at their class reunions.

Baseball is and always has been the great humbler. You don’t win by just showing up. There are things that have to been done in a certain way, pitch by pitch, each and every time you play. Nothing would drive me more crazy than a lackluster performance.

My only goal was to have my team always strive for excellence and play every game the same way. Discipline, consistency, and sound fundamentals were our trademark. When we didn’t meet those standards, I would rant and rave and lecture them, talking loud and sprinkling the rhetorical conversation with some inappropriate language, just to make a point. Once again. It’s just how I was wired. My mom smoked cigarettes when she was pregnant with me and Bill “Moose” Perry was my high school baseball coach. I’m damaged.

In just about all cases, our team responded pretty well to whatever I dished out and that was usually not good news for the next team we played.

After our most recent home loss to our “Baptist” friends, after I finished my post-game tirade, I turned and walked out the gate and began walking to my mobile condo on the front side of the campus. A mobile home on campus was about the best I could do with the lucrative $9000 salary I was earning at 555 Magnolia Road. 

I left the players standing in the outfield like I had done many times before. They would always stay put until I was at least out of sight. And on these annual upsets, I’m sure they were glad these were home games so there was no long bus ride lecture all the way back.

I drove the bus and no matter how long or short the trip was, the lecture was non-stop and usually lasted longer than the drive back to campus. The road trip lectures always included blowout wins at Porter’s Chapel or Tri-County; blowout wins over terrible teams where we won 15-0, walked 18 times, when they committed 10 errors, while we only had a couple of hits.

If we got back to the school and I wasn’t finished with my motivational rant, I would just stop the bus at the gate and continue until I was done.  I just could not stand it.

On this night, just for a little added emphasis of my disgust, and a little show business, I ripped off my red game jersey and dunked in the garbage dumpster in the parking lot on my way home, for all to see, as if saying we were not worthy to wear that sacred uniform.

I heard star player Rob Harrell’s mom, Jane, holler from the bleachers, “Take it all off!” I smiled. Of course, I smiled where nobody could see me smile; an internal, subliminal smile.

The players would go home and get another dose of it from there parents who had the same expectations I did. Everybody expected more, even the team, most of the time.

I was blessed to coach in a time when parents held their kids accountable and would support a coach who did the same thing. A little tough love never killed a kid, either at home or on the baseball field. In today’s game, it’s usually the coach who gets yelled at and the kids do no wrong and stay soft. High expectations and toughmindedness are success principles for life.

Lessons learned: We play for the name on the front of the “red” jersey and not the name on the back. There is always a certain standard to uphold on and off the baseball field. Excellence requires that things be done in a certain way. It doesn’t just happen by chance.

As for the sacred red jersey, my assistant coach, former player, and long-time buddy Richard Kelly was following along behind me and retrieved it from the dumpster. Richard always seemed to be around when the dramas of my coaching career happened; a lot of dramas over 30 years, needless to say.

And I think we also learned that it’s hard to keep your uniform on when you reek the smell of losing. 🙂

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