Yeah… I thought I knew the game… Turns out—I was coachin’ chaos in Velcro cleats. Verse 1 –ball I said, “Boys, it’s easy, just run to your right,” Four bases, diamond, sunshine bright, I’d played this game since I was knee-high tall— How hard could it be? It’s just T-ball. First kid swings like he’s choppin’ wood, Misses by a mile—“Good hustle!” I stood. Next one hits and takes off fast— Straight to third… like first was in the past. Another ran zig-zag, picnic fly style, One picked daisies in center field awhile, And one sweet soul slid into home— On the wrong team’s bench… said, “Coach, I’m home! Parents screamin’ like Game Seven night— “THAT WAS SAFE!” “Blue, you’re blind!” I’m thinkin’ nobody’s even keepin’ score… But apparently little Timmy’s goin’ pro at four. It’s snacks before stats, juice boxes over rings, Who brought the orange slices? That’s the championship thing. Dreams bigger than the dugout wall, Future Hall of Famer can’t catch at all. We laughed, we yelled, we learned to cope, With bubble wrap knees and unlimited hope. Yeah I signed up thinkin’ I’d teach ‘em the game— Turns out they were coachin’ me the same. Verse 2 – Coach Pitch to Kid Pitch Coach pitch—I'm lobbing moonshots slow, Half of ‘em duck like it's about to blow. Kid pitch came—oh mercy me— Now I’m prayin’ for basic geometry. Intensity rising every single year, Parents packin’ scouting reports and gear, “Did you see that swing?” “That arm!” “That stride!” Meanwhile Johnny’s worried what’s inside— “Coach… who brought snacks?” Not batting average, not RBI— Just cookies shaped like baseballs, oh my. Verse 3 – Soccer Now soccer… or what we called “Huddle Ball,” Twenty kids chasing one thing—that’s all. No positions, no left or right, Just a human tornado in neon tights. Parents yellin’, “Spread out! PASS!” Kids just mobbin’ like free-range grass. I’m watchin’ them and the bleachers too— Honestly, the parents were the better zoo. Ref walks off rubbin’ his head, Probably questions every choice he’s made. Goes home, hits the first wall he sees— “Why’d I ref U-8s on a ninety-degree?” It’s snacks before stats, Capri-Suns and dreams, Every loss is tragic—if you ask the teams. Tiny jerseys hangin’ loose and tall, Future legends trippin’ on the ball. We laughed till tears ran down our face, In folding chairs and borrowed grace. I thought I was buildin’ champions tall— They were buildin’ memories, that’s all. Bridge – Basketball Then came hoops… Now listen close… I’m too short, too slow, hands like stone, Jump shot looked like a wounded drone. One season in and we all agreed— Basketball and me? Mutual relief. Dodged that bullet like a loose free throw, Sometimes the best coaching move is knowin’ when to go. Verse 4 – Wrestling Now wrestling—older boys, fire in their eyes, Disciplined grit under gymnasium lights. Testosterone thick in the air, Headgear tight and that thousand-yard stare. This one I loved—focus and fight, Perfect the move for Saturday night. Less chaos, more pride on the mat, Still askin’ who brought the snacks after that. It’s snacks before stats, that’s the golden rule, Not the trophies stacked up at the school. From T-ball dirt to Friday night lights, From huddle-ball swarms to wrestling fights. Seasons changed, boys grew tall, Some even picked up my stubborn drawl. I coached the games—I thought that’s what I’d do— But I was just tryin’ to stay close to you. Little time on tennis courts, Weight room laughs and fishing reports, Hunting dawns and stories told… Coaching wasn’t wins or gold. It was Velcro shoes and grass-stained jeans, Juice box crowns and Little League dreams. So tell me— What did your rookie season teach? Who brought the snacks? And who ran to third from first on the very first reach?
