Foul Balls and a Little Foul Language: An Education in High School Baseball

There is a reason there are so many great movies about baseball: Field of Dreams, 61, Major League, The Sand Lot, and even the Bad News Bears.  The energy that surrounds a ball field is so good-natured, you can cut the all-Americanness like you can cut into an apple pie. Baseball, for many, feels like home – a dusty field, kids swinging bats, boys with gloves catching balls, and united fans sitting on silver bleachers. Baseball is pure nostalgia. 

But a lot of the magic captured in these movies happens during practice, when no one is around except the coaches and kids.  On Friday afternoon I got to witness that magic at the annual Estero High School Homerun Derby. My husband, who is an assistant baseball coach for the school, asked me to attend the derby taking place right after practice that Friday; so I went to be supportive. 

The truth is, unlike most Americans, I haven’t been that enthralled with baseball.  It’s a long game and I never liked how much emphasis and money is placed on the sport.  Although I appreciate the nostalgia, I’ve always thought academics should be the focus in high school, not sports.

But I decided to go, have a little fun and to support the coaches and some of my former students who would be playing in the derby that day.

I approached the field and felt like an intruder, as if I was eavesdropping on a private conversation or secret society.  Not a weird secret society but the kind of group or sport they write books about – the kind of moment that has been played out on screens for over a century.   

I quickly noticed I was the only spectator there.  The coaches were in a circle kicking the dirt around with their feet and laughing at quiet exchanges between each other.  When they saw me, they stopped midsentence, smiled and then turned back to their conversation.  I was honored by their apathy at my attendance because it meant I could stay.

Today, the seniors would bat against the coaches in the end of the season homerun derby and the juniors, sophomores and freshman would man the outfield and shag the balls.  The underclassmen seemed envious and I figured they were dreaming about a time in the near future when it would be their turn to square off against their coaches.

As I sat there I figured, the players and coaches were looking forward to the derby – an escape from the monotony of school, a break from the bells, a cessation from expectations and rules.  The underclassmen were even enjoying the hard work of setting up, running up to home plate with a turtle (a huge net reinforced by aluminum poles that surrounds home plate and the batter, and keeps foul balls and strikes from going all over the place).

Once the turtle was in place, the seniors and  coaches began to surround it. The first kid up was a pitcher only, which means he never bats during the season.  

Walking toward home plate he asked, “Why do I have to go first?”

“Because you’re the worst hitter on the team,” another said with his fingers hanging from the net and his face close to it as he heckled his friend.  He said it so matter of fact and then spit on the ground. The batter took it all in stride and set up for the ball. The head coach was pitching and lobbing meatballs right down the middle. 

Another kid said to the batter, “Don’t worry about it…just hit the ball.” As he swung at the first pitch another yelled, “Get underneath it!”  Foul ball. He swung a couple more times hitting a few good ones. As the seniors batted through the line up, a few hit home runs; the outfielders were yelling things like, “Get out!” and “Come on!”

I learned the rules quickly: each team (kids vs. coaches) gets 7 outs.  Anything that is not a home run is an out.  As the derby continued the shit-talking these kids were giving each other and the coaches made it clear that to be a ball player you had to have some wits about you –you had to be able to hold your own when it came to talking smack.  This sport isn’t just about hand eye coordination; it’s also about rolling with the punches and coming back with a better insult than your teammates. 

One senior, missing his front tooth and grinning like he knew something the others didn’t, was the biggest shit stirrer.  Even the coaches laughed when he said to a former major league ball player, turned coach, up to bat, “Nope! Not today! You suck at this game.”

To that the coach smirked and hit the ball so far out of the park the kids in the outfield threw their gloves in the air.  The coaches ran through their line up and were slugging them out over the fence one after another. 

The kids were harassing the hell out of them too, something I suspected was only permitted on a day like today – a free day – and the kids were taking full advantage of it. Head coach, Frank Turco went up to bad and hit a foul ball.

I heard from the outfield, “Come on tool bag! Don’t play homerun baseball, backhand baseball is what it’s all about, Coach!”  Obviously something he had said to the kids again and again at practice and at games. Another out.  Centerfield pointed to his teammate and said, “Hey Turco, this guy next to me says you can’t hit worth a shit!” I loved the audacity of this kid.  Clearly the underclassmen in the outfield were trying to impress their senior batters by the insults they were slinging 50 to 100 feet away. I was impressed.

It went on like this for a while, 2-3 homeruns here and there.  Each team went through two rounds at bat.  The coaches saying how sore they were going to be in the morning but probably having more fun than the kids.   High fives and disputes over foul balls verses homeruns ensued.  No one ever getting mad enough to cause a problem – everyone gave in at some point, compromises made with slurs attached.  

“We gave you the last homerun!  We are taking this one!” “Whatever! Take the run, Coach, we’ll still kick your ass.”

The score was close 10-12.  Last up to bat for the derby: the head coach. “Come on Frank!” Yelled another coach.  He hit a home run, and had one more out; he would need another homerun to tie.

The last pitch left the mound and Coach swung and fouled the ball; the boys went nuts and rushed the field.  I heard someone yell, “You just got beat by a bunch of high school kids! How does that make you feel?” I smiled, secretly happy the kids had kicked the coaches’ asses. 

Although I am usually annoyed with the emphasis on sports over academics, I understood the sports perspective a little more after I watched the derby that day.  I get why people love this game and spend hours and days and months and years of their lives playing and coaching it.

After I left, I thought about the education these kids were getting on that field.  An education that could not be described as politically correct or appropriate. However, I suppose these kids are more likely to remember this day of homerun derby baseball more than they would remember feedback on a chemistry or history exam.  

When I see something like I did that day, I remember education and learning is all around us.  It doesn’t always happen in a desk or during an exam.  It can happen on a ball field where boys learn to roll with the punches even if they are getting hassled by their teammates.  Even I received an education that day.  Not just regarding the rules of a homerun derby, but also that coaches and players can have such a connection. These men and boys were willing to be vulnerable with each other. They were willing to put themselves on the line just to try and hit a few balls out of the park.