What the old heads know

By Jeff Becraft

 

From the ages of 13 to 16, I played on the same little league baseball team in the town baseball league. (I turned 16 before the end of the last season and I think they actually called my age group the Babe Ruth league.)

My coach was a man named Mr. McCrystal. There are many stories about my three years with Mr. McCrystal, but I’m going to focus on the last one.

Going into my final year, I was a fan of Reggie Jackson (don’t hold that against me). At that point, Jackson was part of the Oakland A’s. Later, he moved to the New York Yankees and I stopped liking him at that point, because in my mind, he was an Oakland Athletic.

Also at that time, the Oakland Athletics had white shoes. They were the only team in Major League Baseball that had white shoes. So guess who asked his parents to drive an hour away from our house all the way to Reisterstown, Maryland, to go to the only sports store that sold white Puma baseball cleats? The Puma stripe was white on the original cleat… but I dyed it to match the color of our uniform.

I show up at our first game with sunglasses on (again, you have to remember who I was trying to emulate here), sweatbands, white cleats, and a uniform with the number 9 (and I’ll let you guess who wore that number).

It was pitiful.

Back in the day, we only had two or three bats for the whole team, and that was it. You had to pick from one of those bats to hit. There was none of this everybody had their own bat and own bat bag and batting gloves, and whatever. We played and had fun and gave our best with those two to three bats.

One of the bats we had was this gold, aluminum bat that had this huge barrel on it and was the largest bat we had in the lineup. Well… hey… you know… I’m number 9. I’ve got sunglasses on. I’ve got to use that bat. Mr. October, and whatnot.

I really didn’t do much with that bat. In fact, I kept striking out. Every pitch that was thrown me, I would swing for the fences. I went from being our number three hitter in the lineup and one of the top hitters on the team, to being moved all the way down to the number seven slot. I was consoled by one of my friends during one game when I sat down next to him on the bench, and he said, “Well…if you ever actually make contact, it’s out of here.”

The problem was, I wasn’t hitting anything. I was just striking out. The thing I admire about Mr. McChrystal is that he was the coach of the team. He was in charge. No one questioned that. He didn’t really demand that… he didn’t flaunt anything… he just was one of those people that it was simply natural to respect him and follow him. He was the coach but he also treated us all with respect. He set that kind of atmosphere.

And here I come in with sweatbands and white shoes and sunglasses.

Oh, it was absolutely pitiful.

But Mr. McChrystal didn’t flinch, and he really never tried to change me. Now, if I had been coaching and someone like me showed up like that, I would be thinking, “What in the world is wrong with this kid? Someone needs to take him down a few notches.” Mr. McChrystal never took that approach. He let me find out for myself. And as the strikeouts mounted up, the sunglasses came off and the sweat bands came off.

I still had the white shoes but I chose a different bat. It was a wooden bat. Now, today, I would love to hit with a wooden bat, (with all the aluminum bats running around) just to hear the sound of a wooden bat hitting a baseball. But this bat was smaller. It didn’t have as big a barrel on it. It didn’t make me feel like Mr. October. But guess what? I started getting hits and not just hits, sometimes extra-base hits. As I started getting those hits, I started moving back up in the lineup.

Here I was 16 years old and grasping at something. I was having fun… kind of. But it really wasn’t me and it wasn’t very much fun striking out… and it certainly wasn’t very much fun being moved all the way down to number seven in the lineup.

But Mr. McCrystal… there is something that the old heads know. He didn’t panic or over-react. As an old head, he had wisdom that I didn’t have as a young person. Old heads have an insight that enables them to navigate different waters and navigate life. And as they hold the helm steady, a young person can learn to settle into what is best.

One of the things I really admired about Mr. McChrystal is we were getting ready to head into the playoffs. We were in first place at that time and one of our key players missed a practice. I knew this player; I went to school with him. We’ll say his name is Gary.

Mr. McCrystal said that Gary would have to apologize to the team for missing a practice or he wasn’t going to be able to go into the playoffs with us. I sat there and held my breath. I’m thinking, “There’s no way Gary’s going to apologize to the team… and we need this guy. What is Mr. McCrystal doing?”

At the next practice, Gary stood in front of the entire team and apologized that he had let the team down.

So he was back on the team and we were heading into the playoffs. (And just to make a long story long, we won the championship that year.) Mr. McCrystal had the insight… and the guts… to do the right thing in a difficult situation, and not just simply to pass it by. I sat there and thought, “Wow…”

So the old heads do know something… and young people, even in all their flamboyance, still need gray hair in their lives.

 

Jeff Becraft is the Director of Our Place of Hope, where people find encouragement to regain meaning, purpose, and hope for their lives. Jeff has dedicated much of his life to helping shift the vision of people’s lives. If you would like Jeff to speak to your group or event, you can connect with him at  [email protected].