MLK Day – Closing in on the Dream?

[The following post contains language that some readers might find offensive.]
They weren't a good team. It was as simple as that. He and his brother were the only black coaches in the east side Little League division. And every year when we drafted players, they seemed to pick every black kid that was available. I heard the snide off-hand comments from the other coaches that he was “prejudiced.” I learned the real reason when he approached me to make a trade, one of his better white players for my younger black kid who still hadn’t learned to hit. “Needs a ride, Coach. He needs a ride.” Sure enough, at every practice and game that coach never arrived without a car full of his players. Transportation issues guaranteed that every year he had many great kids on his team, but few good players. He just seemed to have other priorities.

That team was responsible for one of the worst wins of my coaching career. His team hadn’t won a game and we were in second place. My team had gotten complacent. Late in the last inning, our wheels came off. We gave up three runs. His team was only down by one-run with a runner on second. His dugout was going crazy. Then like something out of a black and white movie, his number nine hitter blooped an opposite field homer. Incredible. His team went wild – with the top of their order coming up they had a real chance to win this game. The runner from second got so excited, he touched third, took off his helmet and started pumping it in the air. A real no-no. From the first league meeting, we had been telling kids to keep their batting helmets on until they got into the dugout. Safety. The League was serious. It was an automatic out. My son, the catcher, pointed out to the umpire the bare-headed runner about to touch home. The umpire called him out. Game over. We won. He and I came to the plate to hear the umpire explain. He listened quietly, then he put the offending helmet on his own head and walked back to the dugout with his arms extended as if to say “See?” Then he put his arm around the kid who had cost them the game -- who happened to be crying.

That year the east side played the west side in a kind of Athens tournament. We were the weaker league but we had some players. Bragging rights were on the line. My team won our first game – a wild two-strike homer by my son, Scoop (did you think I would write this whole thing without giving a nod to a Shamp?) After the game as we were gathering up our equipment, we heard a commotion from the adjoining field where his team was playing. Then a kid came up and said the east side coach had pulled his team off the field. I hurried over to see what was going on and I met the coach walking to the parking lot with his team behind him. I asked what was going on.

“He called me a n**er. That coach called me a ni**er.”

I was shocked. That couldn’t happen here – not in one of the most enlightened spots in the entire universe. I said he had to have misunderstood.

“I know that coach and he wouldn’t say something like that” and as soon as those words left my lips I knew that wasn’t really true. He looked at me.

“My son heard, Coach. My son was right there and heard.” He put his arm around his son who was standing next to him and walked off.

Today on Martin Luther King Day, I thought about that coach’s pain and pride. He helped me remember that racism isn’t just a societal problem, it is always personal. It damages us all by wounding the few. This year we can congratulate ourselves on the progress we have made in addressing long-standing bias and even hatred. A black man in the White House. Who can say things aren’t getting better? But I have been thinking about that coach in the car ride home when he had to explain himself to his team, to his son. Maybe the policies of the person in the Oval Office mean less than the beliefs of the person in the opposite dugout, your neighbor. Dr. King had a dream and we are closing in. But we still have such a long way to go.