Out of Left Field
Winning Stories:
One Strike, Three Outs
A summer baseball story
Back in the early 2000s, I was hired as the interim head coach of a summer varsity baseball team from an affluent high school in the Portland, Oregon, area. To be honest, I wasn't all that excited about coaching there. The school had a reputation for parent drama, but I was young, and I needed the money.
The program had spent years somewhere between mediocre and underachieving. Summer baseball wasn't exactly a priority. Many of the players spent their summers traveling the world, attending exclusive camps, or doing just about anything other than community baseball.
That particular summer we had about 16–18 committed players, and there was some real talent in the group. We held a couple of optional practices just to get acquainted, and I was pleasantly surprised. The boys worked hard, showed up on time—or at least let me know if they'd be late—and they all looked like baseball players. Their attitude was refreshing.
By the following week, I had a pretty good feel for who everyone was and what they could do. My plan was simple: give everyone an opportunity to play.
On the day of our first game, one of the parents showed up carrying a box filled with brand-new jerseys and hats. It caught me completely by surprise. I figured if we weren't going to play well, at least we'd look good doing it.
Our opener was across town against a lower-level high school team. They had plenty of athletes, but not many polished baseball players.
That day I had one of our "better pitchers" scheduled to start. He was leaving that weekend to spend the rest of the summer biking across Europe with his father, so this would be my only chance to see him pitch in a game.
We started off great, putting a few runs on the board in the top of the first.
Then I sent our guy to the mound.
He looked the part. Athletic build, crisp new uniform, good velocity, and a decent off-speed pitch in the bullpens leading up to opening day.
First pitch... Ball.
Second pitch... Ball.
Third pitch... Ball.
Fourth pitch... Ball.
I walked out to the mound.
"Relax. Breathe. You've got this."
Nothing complicated. Just slow the game down.
I took my time walking back to the dugout, hoping he'd settle in.
I sat back down on my bucket and thought, We've already got the lead. We're going to score plenty more today. I'll give him a long leash. Besides, I won't see him again after this weekend.
Next hitter.
Ball one.
Ball two.
At that point, you probably know what's coming.
Ball three.
Ball four.
First and second.
"You've got this! I'm not warming anybody up. Figure it out!"
Four more balls later, I started questioning my leadership.
Thirty-pitch limit, I reminded myself. Worst case, this becomes an expensive bullpen session. He's a great kid. Maybe after Europe he'll figure it out.
Bases loaded.
Twelve straight balls.
Our supposed ace hadn't thrown a strike.
Now I was wondering what I'd gotten myself into for the next month and a half.
Finally, I sent another pitcher down to the bullpen. I also had my catcher walk out to the mound—not because I thought he had the magic answer, but to slow things down long enough for the next guy to loosen up.
The catcher jogged back.
The pitcher took a deep breath.
Next pitch...
Right down the middle.
As hard as he could throw it.
The batter absolutely annihilated it...
...right back at the pitcher.
He somehow caught the line drive.
Without hesitating, he fired to the shortstop covering second.
The shortstop relayed to first.
Triple play.
One strike.
Three outs.
The boys exploded out of the dugout like we'd just won the state championship.
I met him as he walked off the field, patted him on the back, and said,
"Nice outing. Have a great trip."
We ended up finishing right around .500 that summer. Looking back, I really enjoyed coaching those kids. More than twenty years later, I still laugh every time I tell that story. Sometimes baseball gives you memories you couldn't script if you tried.
Twelve straight balls. One strike. Three outs. Baseball is a funny game.
Tighty Whitey
A coaching story from Coach G
The reason behind the nickname goes back to the day before a state championship game.
We were holding batting practice using a JUGS Pitching Machine and JUGS practice balls. This was back in 1994, and unlike today, we didn't have a protective screen in front of the machine. They existed, but they were expensive, and our program simply couldn't afford one.
One of my players was taking batting practice while I was feeding balls into the machine.
I started talking with the hitter at the plate and, without thinking, took a couple of steps backward.
I walked right into the spinning tire of the pitching machine.
The tire instantly grabbed my pants, ripped a giant hole in them, and left me with a pretty good burn for good measure.
The nickname was born.
From that day on, the players called me "Tighty Whitey."
Needless to say, I never lived it down.
Looking back, the lesson was simple.
Always pay attention when you're feeding a pitching machine, and never take your surroundings for granted.
I've been coaching for 42 years, and of all the games, practices, and championships I've been part of, that's still one day I'll never forget.
That's my story.
(IMPORTANT: Be sure to always use a protective screen.)
Four Balls
A coaching story from Coach S. Reilly
Decades ago, I was coaching an American Legion team, and we had a game at our home park. In the bottom of the second inning, I had runners on second and third with one out. A pitch was thrown in the dirt, and the catcher was bouncing, shifting, and running around like a squirrel looking everywhere, including at the backstop. I held my runner at third as I thought the catcher was faking. After a full minute passed, it was apparent he wasn't, so I sent both runners across the plate.
Then the search began for the ball, but it couldn't be found anywhere. I finally said to the home plate umpire, "Bill, let's solve this right now. How many baseballs do you have in your ball bag?"
"Four," he replied.
"That's it, Bill; we only started the game with four. So it must've gone right back into your ball bag!" Unfortunately, since the ball was lodged on the umpire, he had to rule the ball was dead and the runners had to go back. The story made Umpire Magazine.
Somebody Died
In 1989, I was an assistant coach for our local high school team. We had a player named Rob who also worked after school for a funeral home. During a team meeting in our locker room one afternoon after practice, our head coach was telling the players that he would no longer tolerate any excuses for showing up late to practice or leaving early. During the speech, a pager went off. I could see it was attached to Rob's practice pants. Rob then said, "Coach, I have to leave." The Coach turned in anger and barked,
"What now, Rob?"
With a serious face, Rob replied: "Somebody died, coach, and I have to get the body." The Coach then sheepishly replied: Then I guess you have to go, Rob. Somebody died." The rest of the players then buried their laughter in their gloves.
Why Me God?
In 1988, I was an assistant coach for our local high school team. During a game, a ball was hit on the ground toward our left fielder, Rob, for a base hit. The ball then sped through the middle of our left fielder's outstretched legs and rolled toward the fence, and the left fielder just stood there and raised his arms to the sky and yelled,
"Why me, God?"
Our head coach then screamed from our third base side dugout, "God wants you to get the ball, Rob!"
Rob then turned and ran after it.
I made it to 2nd!
A coaching story from Josh
7th/8th grade middle school fastpitch softball team with half of team competitive and other half recreational. At a mixed intrasquad scrimmage, a girl who’s struggling to hit, gets a nice hit into the outfield for a single. She’s dancing and excited at 1st. Next batter hits another ground ball to the outfield and she moves on and is dancing and excited again.
“I made it to 2nd!”
Everyone is puzzled and we ask her what she is doing.
We have to tell her that she is on the pitching rubber. "
Do you have a funny story? Send them to stevec@jugssports.com right now. Best stories will win JUGS equipment or a copy Jack's book, From the Third Base Coaches Box. Share your best ones with us for a chance to win!
