I love the Cubs.

I shutter a little bit typing those four words. It’s something I thought I’d never say or do, unless I was on the losing end of some bet. Just a few months ago, in a life-or-death situation that demanded I say that sentence, I’d probably deliberate a bit between the worst-case scenario and uttering those four awful words.

But today, I say it proudly: I love the Cubs.

I hope my father-in-law, a lifelong follower of the Lovable Losers doesn’t read this – and judging by the number of hits my blog gets each week, he and many others are not – because I’d never hear the end of it.

I of course am not talking about the Chicago Cubs.

Our first season as coaches in the New Berlin Athletic Association coach-pitch/t-ball league ended Monday. Nick and I survived approximately two months as first-year coaches and our team – the Cubs – provided us with a ton of memories we won’t soon forget.

We watched players improve right before our eyes, picking up things we talked about at practice and applying them in games. The good players got better, and the players who started the season behind the rest of the pack showed skills I would have never predicted they possessed.

In our last game, Abby, who had not put a ball in play off live pitching during a game, finally did so in her second-to-last at bat. When she did, she ‘raced’ to first, her fingers in the ear holes of her helmet to hold it on, flashing a huge smile. The opposing team got her out, but it was a huge moment for our team and the parents. Our smallest player who often swung the bat so late the ball was already past the catcher, put a ball in play.

One week earlier, Jude, another player who struggled with live pitching for most of the season, hit three of Nick’s pitches and reached safely all three times. I texted Nick later that night: "3-for-3!"

Just days earlier, I spent a little extra time working with Abby and Jude on their hitting. The last two games, I felt like a proud parent.

Our final practice of the season was also a blast. We staged a players vs. parents game. Parents batted left-handed off the tee with small bats, enough to make anyone laugh. The players won, 19-7, thanks to some clutch hits and indecision on behalf of the parents while running the bases and playing the field.

The play of the game was when Leah took a sharp-hit one hopper off the chest. It bounced away to me – Nick and I played with our team – in center field, and instead of Leah feeling bad about missing the ball, she had the sense to cover second base, took a throw from me and forced out her mom.

That she knew to cover the base – something most of our players had no idea how to do a few months ago – showed that our efforts were not futile this summer.

Watching our players improve and throwing their fists in the air after making a good play, seeing the parents enjoy their time at games and practices, getting to coach my godson, spending time with my best friend, all the different personalities – even the challenging ones, teaching a game I love to kids eager to learn … how could I not love the Cubs?

A quick warning for those hoping to see how the t-ball Cubs did this week: this blog is more about growing up than it is about grand slams and ground balls.

Nearly 12 years ago, by luck of the draw, I became suitemates with Nick at UW-Milwaukee’s Sandburg Halls. Almost immediately, we were best friends.

As the months and years rolled on, our web of friends grew, with various interests weaving us together: sports, video games, similar career paths and, gasp, professional wrestling.

Yikes. I can’t believe I just admitted that. But remember, we were young 20-somethings and the brash, comedic monologues of The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin fit what our group thrived on: finding new ways to make each other laugh. We’d get together every Monday Night, pick up the new insults Raw had to offer, order pizza and play video games. At times, we had two TVs going at once – one with Undertaker beating the hell out of Triple H and the other rockin’ a few fast-paced games of NBA Live on the newest, most expensive game system available.

We eventually (and thankfully) grew out of wrastlin’, but kept getting together Monday Nights. Monday Night Football filled our time in the falls and winters, coinciding with plenty of fantasy football trash-talking. (I, by the way, am the defending league champ). Other Monday Nights were spent watching baseball or basketball or just playing video games. It didn’t matter if we did nothing at all – we looked forward to Mondays.

As it turned out, we were growing up together. Jobs, marriages, kids and houses replaced skipping class, apartment hunting and girlfriends.

As we got older, our lives got more complicated. But we always had Monday Nights as our outlet, our chance to be 20 again and not care about much else. We planned our weeks around that day and those who knew us best knew not to schedule anything to interfere with those precious hours at the beginning of the work week. And if you missed a Monday Night – no matter what the reason – you were blasted by the group in only a way your best friends can do.

Over the last year or so, our Monday Nights have become increasingly rare. Life finally grabbed hold and prevented us from forgetting about it even for a few hours a week, at least not in the way we had grown accustomed to.

As our priorities evolved, so too have Monday Nights, especially for Nick and I. For the last few months, 13 players have looked to us for baseball guidance, and Nick’s son, Jacob, whom I once held in one arm hours after he was born, is showing baseball instincts that have me believing he’s a superstar in the making.

We’ve traded our well-intended verbal assaults, video game controllers and fast food for encouraging words, batting tips and post-game snacks.

Last Monday Night, I was reminded again how grown up I was. My wife, Angela, and daughter, Hannah – the two most important things to me – attended their first game of the season. Angela spent most of the time trying to keep Hannah entertained and off the field.

Once she finally got a chance to run on the infield dirt, Hannah did not want to leave. She cried and pleaded to stay so she could play games and hang out.

And who could blame her? It was, after all, Monday Night.

Up next: Our final game is 7 p.m. Monday, July 20, at Malone No. 7.
 

The season is unfortunately winding down quickly. Only two more games and one more practice before our players put away their baseball bats and gloves and pull out their footballs and soccer balls.

One of our players, Kellen, had his season come to a premature end, or so we thought. While on a family vacation, Kellen fell and broke his arm. His mom sent Nick an email prior to our game July 6 telling us what happened, so when we made out our lineup card before the game we left his name off the list.

But a few minutes before the first pitch, Kellen appeared clutching his glove and bat with his one good hand, the other in a cast from his fingers past his elbow. Not only did Kellen surprisingly show up, he came ready to play.

Two problems: Kellen could not swing a bat with two hands because he could not bend his left arm, and he could not put a fielder’s glove on.

Nick and I, however, did not know he could not swing. His mom said to let him do whatever he felt comfortable doing, and Kellen insisted he could take his hacks. But after a painful grimace during his first two swings against Nick’s pitches, we quickly realized though he was rockin’ the biggest heart on the field, the cast limited when Kellen could actually do. Another attempt led to an awkward one-handed swing. Finally, he ripped a ball off the tee with another one-handed swing.

In between innings, I told Kellen he could not play. I felt like I had just told him his puppy died. He was so dejected, so down. I thought his eyes welled up with tears, or maybe mine did because I felt so bad for him. Kellen loves to play ball, and it shows. He’s got natural ability and a certain strut fit for a baseball player, and I just told him his season was over.

But the next inning, I came up with an idea. Let’s let him take one swing off the tee - one-handed of course. I made him promise not to swing too hard, not to let go of the bat in mid-swing and to take it easy on the bases. The opposing coach and umpire graciously allowed us to bypass the live pitching.

He wound up getting two more hits — and a loud applause each time.

And he’s got two more games before his season is officially over.

Next up: Game 9 is 7 p.m. Monday, July 13, at Malone No. 8.

Back in April, when Nick and I sat in on our first NBAA baseball meeting, the meeting organizers insisted that by the end of the season, coaches would see marked improvement in their players.

When practice began in early May I wasn’t so sure I believed that. The first few practices were so primitive – this is how we catch, this is how we throw, this is how we swing the bat. I thought it would take a long, long time to see improvement, especially with a limited one-practice, one-game per week schedule.

I was wrong.

We’ve shown steady progress over the last two months, culminating in perhaps our best game of the season Monday.

Despite the distracting rainfall – one player spent more time trying to catch rain in his mouth than he did in the ready position, and another player was mystified by a distant rainbow – we put together a complete game.

Months ago, some of our players didn’t know what a force-out was. For the first few games, with very few exceptions, our players tried to make outs by throwing the ball to first, regardless of how many runners were on base. Nick and I drilled that into their heads. We figured we had to start somewhere so we had them throw to first on almost every play.

Yesterday, however, we got three force-outs at home – two unassisted by the catcher and a pitcher-to-catcher play – and attempted another three or four at third base. On one play with the bases loaded, Leah scooped the ball up at the pitcher’s mound, turned without hesitation, and fired the ball to second base where Jacob was covering.

In my head, I thought Jacob was going to snare the throw – by the way, Leah has a cannon; look out for her down the road – and that he was going to rifle it to Matthew at first base for a double play.

In reality, Leah’s throw sailed past Jacob into center field and all the runners were safe. But that we even attempted that play and that Jacob and Matthew had their bases covered were clear signs that the players have learned a lot since May.

And at the plate, we were even more impressive. Every batter except one got at least one hit and most of them did so off live pitching. The aforementioned Matthew, one of the smallest and quietest players on the team, ripped a line drive down between the third baseman and shortstop. I think it was our farthest hit (in the air) of the season. And Alyssa smacked a line drive off a live pitch that prompted Jacob to say, “That’s the biggest girl hit I’ve ever seen.”

Three games remain. I can’t wait to see what they do next.

Up next: Our seventh game is at 7 p.m. Monday, July 6, at Malone No. 7.
 

In honor of Father’s Day – so I’m almost a week late, big deal – it’s the perfect time to give credit one of the most important unofficial groups that keep the New Berlin Athletic Association’s baseball program going year in and year out.

Dads play a huge role in the day-to-day happenings of the league. Of course, moms do to, but Mother’s Day was so last month.

Many fathers make up the NBAA’s board of directors. Their children have either played in the past or are playing now.

Many coaches are dads coaching their own sons or daughter.

But just as important as board directors and coaches are the fathers that show up to practice or games just to lend a helping hand.

Nick and I have been fortunate to have an active group of dads that want to help their own child and others grow in the game of baseball. In fact, at practice Thursday we had three parents fight the heat and pitch in. That day, we only had six players show up, giving us a silly 6-to-5 player-to-adult ratio and the individual attention we were able to provide made it one of the best practices of the season.

Two of the parents there Thursday – Jude’s dad, Keith, and Matthew’s dad, Mike – are about as permanent fixtures on our team as errant throws and untimely potty breaks. I think I’ve missed more combined games and practices than they have this season.

Before games, they are playing catch with the players, getting them warmed up. During the games, you can usually find one of them coaching first base and the other at third giving high fives to the players and reminding them to keep running to the next station when the ball is hit.

Before we take the field, Keith is often helping the catcher get his or her shin guards on while Mike is helping the rest of the players find their misplaced hats and gloves.

At practice, their presence is even more valuable. Keith and Mike shag overthrows so the kids don’t waste valuable time doing so. They help players get in the right position to field the ball, make sure they keep their back foot planted when they swing, keep kids positive when they or one of their teammates makes a mistake ... the list goes on and on.

Even more importantly, they listen to Nick and me. We coach them on what we want to do and how we think it should be done, and they coach the players. It’s a simple relationship that benefits the entire team, and especially the 6-year-olds learning the game.

Nick and I might be able to survive without Keith and Mike and the other dads that help out, but we're glad we don’t have try to. Happy belated Father’s Day to all those that help make the NBAA possible.

For more than a month, I waited patiently for one of our players to catch a pop fly.

We had shown vast improvements with ground balls, but the very few chances we’ve had to field a fly ball had been unsuccessful.

That is until our fifth game, the official midway point of the season.

And I missed it.

With my wife out of town for business, I was home with my 1-year-old girl. Coach Nick informed me of the big play Tuesday morning. According to Nick, Dan, who was playing pitcher at the time, camped out under what Nick called a “monster popup” and caught it with a basket catch, Willie Mays Hayes style.

OK, so it wasn’t exactly what we’ve preached in terms of proper fly ball-catching technique, but had I seen the play, I’m sure it would have moved near the top of my list of best moments of the season.

It would have joined these:

• A few weeks ago, Jack was at third base when one of his teammates hit a ground ball. I’m not sure if the dad coaching third base told Jack to run “home” or not, but that appeared to be what Jack had in mind. He took a few steps toward home plate, then made a right turn and sprinted toward the team bench.
• During one of our early practices, Abby, while playing pitcher, fielded a ground ball in front of the mound, walked the ball back to the pitching rubber and then threw it to first. She did this a few times in a row before I realized she thought she had to throw it from that spot.
• Nick told me that Monday, after one of our players struck out, Johnny, the on-deck hitter, said, “That was a good try.” And that’s what playing at this level is all about.

And since my brother, the only person to post a comment on any of these blogs, randomly called me yesterday while I was sitting at home, it got me thinking about some of my all-time favorite “baseball” moments involving him:

• During a Little League game when Mike was about 7, he convinced my dad to go to the concession stand and get him a hot dog. Seriously, my brother ate a hot dog in the dugout in the middle of a game.
• That same season, Mike hit a tapper in front of the mound and thanks to three throwing errors, he raced all the way around the bases. To this day, he still thinks he hit a home run. Heck, it might have been the same day he ate the hotdog, in which case he definitely deserved the in-game meal.
• Again that same season – come to think of it, Mike might have only played one season – he said to me after a game, “Why would I want to play right field when I could be at home drawing?” That still makes me cringe.
• At a Brewers game once at County Stadium while we were with a group of family and friends, Mike picked the winner of the Sausage Race, back when it was still on the scoreboard and there were no mascots racing around the field. I jumped up out of my seat and told him, ‘You won. Go claim your prize.’ He was so excited, his head was on a swivel looking around as he asked, “Where do I go? What did I win?” Sorry Mike, no prizes awarded for picking the wiener.

Up next: Our next game is 5:45 p.m. Monday, June 22, at Malone No. 9.

When I told my old high school baseball coach that I was coaching 6-year-olds this summer, he offered a bit of advice.

He said, "Remember, at that age, their attention span is very limited."

Nick and I have done our best to keep that in mind, especially during practices. There we can break players into small groups and keep them busy with drills. There's not a lot of downtime during our once-a-week, one-hour prep session.

But when it comes to games, 6-year-old minds are a lot more difficult to keep attentive. Players are either standing in the field waiting for a ball to come there way (or maybe praying it won't) or sitting on the bench waiting to bat.

Our fourth game was a prime example. We made a handful of plays, like an unassisted play at second base, and another at third, and some players showed some unexpected skills at the plate off live pitching.

But the players seemed to have a general lack of interest this night. Maybe it was because school is just about out for the summer or maybe there was a full moon. I don't know. But a lot of the players seemed to want to be elsewhere - mostly in line for the Port-O-Pottie - than on the baseball field.

In fact, my most memorable moment of the evening was when I approached our second baseman during the third inning, noticed the hole he had created with his right baseball shoe that was deep enough to hide his foot almost up to his ankle and asked him what the heck he was doing.

"Digging," he said.

It was just one of those nights, I guess. It got me thinking about all the volunteer coaches that have been doing this for years, giving up their time for the love of the game. If I had a nickle for every time I heard one of the following phrases, I'd have, well, a lot of nickles. I haven't been doing this long enough to rake in some serious cash. But if those longtime coaches got one each team they heard these words uttered, they'd have a nice little retirement fund going:

"When do I bat?" (or any variation: "Who bats before me?"; "Who do I bat after?";  "Am I going to bat this inning?")

"How many outs do we have?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Where's my hat (or glove, bat, batting glove, etc.)?"

"Can I play first base?"

And going along with that, here are some things I wish I didn't have to say again this season, but I know I will:

"Don't throw the bat after you hit the ball." Note: We've gotten much, much better at this, and we even have one girl who bends both knees, squats down and daintily places the bat on the ground before running to first.

"If you don't have a helmet and aren't batting this inning, you shouldn't be carrying a bat."

"I'll tell you when you bat when it's your turn."

"Stand up (when a fielder plops down on the ground)."

"Sit down (when players are prancing around when our team is batting)."

"Be sure you're paying attention."

Feel free to post a message with any that I missed, or email me at dcotey@cninow.com. I'll include them in next week's blog.

Speaking of next week, Game 5, the halfway point of the season, is 7 p.m. Monday, June 15, on Malone No. 8.

I realized today I should probably have been keeping a scorebook for Nick and my first season of coaching together.

Not because I’d want to analyze stats and come up with team leaders, but because it probably would have been a good tool to see how players were progressing, and certainly, it would have been a nice memento to stash away and pull out years from now.

Had I had a scorebook Monday, I’m not sure how I would have scored what easily was the best play of our young season.

With the bases loaded – I feel like the bases are always loaded when we play – and our Cubs in the field, a big slugger from the opposing team stepped to the plate. I swear, with his size and the way he swung the bat, he was either too old for our league or taking human growth hormone.

As expected, he drilled a one-hopper to our left fielder, Johnny, who bravely stayed in front of the ball and took a short hop right off his chest. The ball caromed a few feet away, right to another left fielder, Leah.

What? Two left fielders? I suppose I should explain. In the NBAA’s kindergarten league, every player takes the field every inning. You put one player at each infield position, one at catcher and one on the pitcher’s mound, and the rest play the outfield, usually where the infield dirt and outfield grass meet.

So, the ball bounced off Johnny’s chest and over to Leah, who scooped it up and raced to third base for a force out. I think the last time I was that excited about a play was last September at Miller Park. Who would have thought a crazy 7-7 fielder’s choice could make me that happy.

I was proud of Johnny for staying in front of the ball. At this stage we see a lot of fielding that resembles bull fighting – waving the glove as the ball goes by.

And Leah had the smarts to pick it up and outrun the runner at second base. We’ve barely touched on force outs and getting plays at any base other than first, but she knew where to go with the ball once she got it.

And the rest of the team knew something special had just happened. They cheered and jumped around. One player even asked if it was a double play. I said it should have been worth three outs, it was that good.

It was one of a handful of good plays we made during our third game of the season. Had it not been for a few thrown bats, one of which hit the umpire in the legs, it would have easily been our best game of the year.

Three days earlier, our first and only Friday game of the season was not as good. We regressed in comparison to our solid opener, despite having what I thought was a solid practice the day before.

The lowlight came when our second baseman made a terrific scoop of a ground ball – glove on the ground, bare hand on top to pluck out the ball – and came up firing to first base. It was a perfect throw, right on target. But our first baseman was looking elsewhere and the ball drilled him smack dab in the back of the head.

The highs and lows of coaching continue.

Up next: After picture day Saturday, June 6, we play our fourth game at 5:45 p.m. Tuesday, June 9, at Malone No. 7. The final six games are on Mondays.

Opening Day.

Those are two of my favorite words. When said together just right they sound as sweet as a Keith Urban song blasting from my dashboard speaker.

Nothing conjures up more memories than those two words. My first Opening Day at County Stadium. My first Opening Day with my dad. The first ever Opening Day at Miller Park.

Opening Day of each season when I used to play were even better. From my days in South Milwaukee’s Little League to my last year in high school, there was just something about that day like no other. Anticipation had been building since the last pitch of the previous season.

The fields were always groomed better than ever. The grass freshly cut, the foul lines chalked with a perfect white stripe and the dirt soft and playable – a far cry from the rock-hard surface it would become after a hot, dry summer.

The uniforms sparkled, the smells from the concession stands filled the air and every player, coach and parent brimmed with optimism that this would be their year.

Opening Day for the New Berlin Athletics Association’s coach-pitch/t-ball league was May 18. After just two practices, Nick and I marched our 6-year-old troops onto the field for our first game.

About 40 minutes earlier, as I had a pregame meal of two McChicken sandwiches and a small Coke, I scribbled down a few notes, trying to recount all the things we had not yet covered. My piece of loose-leaf filled up quickly.

We never told them what an out was – how to make one, what happens if you’re out, how many you need to end an inning. Inning? What's that?

We never told them what could happen if you don’t tag up when the batter hits a fly ball. We never covered where to throw the ball if it’s hit to the outfield. In fact, the only base we taught them to throw to was first, regardless of how many runners were on or where the ball was hit. Foul ball? I said it once in practice and got a few blank stares.

I anticipated this Opening Day would be a complete disaster. But it wasn’t even a minor train wreck. It was chaotic, but it was organized chaos.

Much to the players’ dismay, we took the field first. When you’re that age, you want to hit and run bases. I tried to explain if we got three outs, we could go hit. More blank stares.

We threw the ball around plenty, but at times, we looked like a real baseball team. Of the eight outs the team recorded in the field before the game's time limit expired, five of them came from plays we made (the others were a result of the batter hitting the tee). We had a few unassisted plays at first base, another at home and we even had one pitcher-to-first putout – not too bad considering the number of times a player or two sprinted off the field without warning to the port-o-potty across the park.

At the plate, our Cubbies surprised us again. A few batters hit a coach pitch and needed quite a bit of coaxing to run to first. Others whacked the ball off the tee better than they had done in practice. A few batters also need to be told not to throw the bat after they hit the ball. I’ll add that to our list.

It was our first of 10 games and with it came the first hit, the first run scored, the first complaint about the batting order and the first player so stricken with boredom he took a seat in right field.

Opening Day. There is nothing else like it.

Up next: Because of Memorial Day, we play our first of two non-Monday games at 5:45 p.m. Friday, May 29, at Malone Park's field No. 8. We follow that with our third game at 5:45 p.m. Monday, June 1, at Malone No. 7.

Thirteen sets of little eyes stared at Coach Nick and me, Coach Dave. About a dozen parents did the same.

We had just handed out uniforms and hats and briefly introduced ourselves to the team of 6-year-olds in the coach-pitch/t-ball division of the New Berlin Athletic Association’s summer baseball program. Our eager little baseball players – the Cubs – had done the same, taking turns shouting – or in some cases whispering – their names.

But introductions were complete and it was time for our first of only two practices before Opening Day.

And Nick and I froze. We thought, “What did we just get ourselves into?”

About six weeks earlier, Nick, whom I’ve know for about a decade, called and asked me how my summer was shaping up. He said he’d just volunteered to coach his son Jacob’s baseball team and asked if I’d be an assistant.

I jumped at the chance to spend some time with Jacob, my godson, and I was pumped about getting back on a baseball field.

Baseball has been my passion since I was 7. I played hardball through high school and recreation department softball up until last summer, when I stepped away to enjoy my first full summer of fatherhood.

But when Nick presented me with an opportunity to teach kids the fundamentals of the game I love, I couldn’t pass it up. And I couldn’t wait for the season to start.

But there we stood at Malone Park in New Berlin, just outside of City Hall on the first Wednesday of May. We were only five minutes into our first practice and, despite having a detailed practice outline tucked away in our back pockets, we weren’t sure what to do next.

My heart raced. But not in the way it does when you go from first to third on a single to right or stretch a double into a triple. More like when you’re standing alone in center field camped out under a fly ball and it hits off the heel of your glove and falls to the ground.

But Nick and I shook off that E-8 quickly and pretended like we knew what we were doing. Some stretching followed by a short run. A quick game of catch. And then we split into smaller groups and worked on hitting and fielding with the help of a number of dads who had wisely brought their gloves.

Nearly an hour and a half later, parents marched their children – most of them with smiles on their faces – back to their cars, hands full of handouts and baseball gear, and drove away. Despite countless errant throws and a few near-miss line drives that almost clipped a player dreaming of being elsewhere, nobody got hurt. And Nick and I survived our first day.

Hopefully we took a step in the right direction. We forgot to do a few things like introduce the positions to the players – oops – but for being a pair of overwhelmed and inexperienced ‘coaches,’ I think we did OK.

As a NOW sports writer/editor for nearly eight years, I’ve covered hundreds of teams from the first day of practice to the end of the season, directly or indirectly critiquing coaching styles and play calls. Now, I’ll look at Nick’s and my team through this blog on NewBerlinNOW.com. I will write weekly updates, likely the day after a game, chronicling our coaching experiences, updating you on the progress we’ve made and what we’ve learned and providing random and insightful thoughts on baseball, youth and life.

I hope you follow along. It should be a fun summer.