Confessions of a tournament director

My long personal nightmare is over, yet I can't sleep. I've had, like, 8 hours of sleep since Thursday, yet I'm compelled to blog about my weekend -- and then never broach the subject again.

The subject is little league baseball and the context is the 42-team tournament I was charged with running. Then came the continued cold weather, the snow (nothing says spring like an April snowstorm), the cancellations, the change of locations, the withdrawals, the sometimes-failed communication, the inherent dysfunctionality, walking tacos and more.

Then Zingy slaps an RBI single into right center and his mom roars. The men blocking my view from the concession stand are compelled to move, finally. I have an unobstructed view when the (substitute) second baseman muffs a grounder and Zach, playing shortstop, erases the error. I admire how he goes about his business. His efforts for double plays are no longer futile and his range is expanded.

Everybody loves a slugger. I admire smart baseball.

Smart baseball players -- no matter how fast -- don't try stealing home while trailing by one with two strikes, two outs and runners on second and third. Ours did and cost us the game and, it turns out, any chance at the pricey trophies we awarded for first and second place.

Smart coaches -- no matter how delusional -- don't send players under such circumstances. Word is ours didn't, and that the player acted on his own.

That's not smart baseball on many levels.

There's more but I'm tired. Rereading this, it's not terribly coherent. I'm not sure what I was trying to say. Except, it's over and yet has just begun.