Robservations: Fighting the urge to be an LLD
Over the weekend, just for a fraction of a second, I felt it.
I felt my ego attempting to take over the more sane, rational parts of my mind. I felt my senses of pride and vanity begin to overwhelm my sense or reality.
And I felt myself beginning to attempt an out-of-body experience, as I tried to live vicariously through someone half my size.
But fortunately, the realization of what was happening dawned on me, and I was able to stop the transformation before I became an “LLD” — Little League Dad.
It happened innocently enough, as most such incidents do.
As a brand-new “dad,” I’d spent the last few weeks looking forward to the beginning of little league practice, since this year, I’d have my own ball player out there to root for.
After a few evenings working on her skills out in the yard, we headed off for the first practice session with her new team. But suddenly, while watching her along with the rest of the girls pick up slow rollers and throw them to a coach at first base, I felt those evil LLD thoughts come creeping into my head:
“Oh, she’s better than that girl.”
“Look at her arm! She’s a natural shortstop.”
“Wow, she might just be the best one on her team!”
Then, like an 18-wheeler slamming into a concrete wall, my train of thought ran head-on into reality.
She’s 6 years old, for heaven’s sake. They all are.
None of them are “good.” They’re learning, and hopefully making friends and having fun. After all, they don’t even keep score in their league, so fun will, in the long run, be all they’ll have to show for it.
Thank goodness I woke up in time to save myself from traveling down that LLD road. But now, if nothing else, I have an understanding of how that mind set can come to be. I have at least an inkling of how a dad can become so clouded with pride in his own child, he can make himself believe his kid is the next Bo Jackson.
At least, I thought I understood it. But a story I heard a day or two ago brought back the mind-blowing nature of just how far these LLD’s egos can sometimes reach.
The way I hear this tale — and granted, I’m hearing third- or fourth-hand reports of the situation — goes something like this.
A father of a local ballplayer, just a few practices into the preseason for one of the city’s leagues, placed a phone call to the league’s head honchos.
It seems he wanted his child placed on a different team, since (and I’m paraphrasing) the “talent level” on his kid’s squad didn’t seem up to the level of his own child, who would be “wasting his skills” playing with such a losing team.
The squad in question is made up of 7- and 8-year-old boys. They hit rubberized, injury-reducing baseballs you could play racquetball with, and they’re pitched to them by their own coaches, to assure everyone is able to make contact.
And some LLD is worried about the rest of the team’s “talent level” not matching up to his own son’s. Ridiculous.
When I talk to the Man upstairs, I often ask him to help me, now that I’ve become a family man. I ask him to help me provide for my household, and to be a loving, caring husband and father.
After this weekend, and after realizing how close I came to turning into one, I’ve started asking him to please help me always be a good dad up in the stands, and never — ever — become an LLD.