Growing up, I loved sports. By the time I was grown up, I hated sports. All my years of love and effort and money was ruined by one simple thing - my coach.
I started doing several sports, but my favorite was softball. At age 5, I started playing softball in my sister’s footsteps, and had been playing ever since. That is, until high school. I quit playing very quickly come then.
I was never the best player or the fastest player, but I tried hard. Softball comes easy to some, but to others such as myself, we have to work hard at it. No matter how hard we work, we may not ever be even close to nearly as good as those who softball just comes naturally to. Regardless, growing up, I made a name for myself as a player (mostly a catcher) and was well known for hitting hard and confidence.
After many years of hard work, dedication, and learning, I got to high school only to have all of my hopes, dreams, and love for softball crushed. Killed. Ruined. I was not the best player, but every night I worked out, came home after practice with sore legs, and bought the best equipment just so I could fit in.
Right away, I was picked out of the many girls and was instantly shamed for not being naturally fast and naturally as good as the other girls. I was uninvolved. I felt awful, like my hard work wasn’t enough. I felt like my constant efforts had been of no use and my dedication was not going to be recognized any time soon. For a girl with such high hopes, this was tough for me.
When asked what team I belonged on, I said varsity. I believed, regardless of how fast I was or whatever else, I knew I could learn and I knew I was dedicated enough to be a very, if not, the best player the team had. I just needed that boost. That confidence. That chance.
When I found out what team I was on, I was crushed. Not only had the coach picked favorites from the beginning, but I was not one of them. Was it because I was not from around here? Was it because I wasn’t known around here for softball? I had so many mixed feelings, and cried for a long time afterwards. I still managed to put a smile on my face and show the team what I was made of. So, my freshman year, I played c-team. Not varsity, not junior varsity, c-team. What was even a lower blow was that we only got to play one game that year. During that one game, guess who scored all the runs? Me. Guess who got to home during the most intense play? Me. I was more than willing to put the team and the game before anything else.
I was congratulated by my team and the assistant coach, but not a thing from the other coach. I just heard how good varsity did, how good jv did. Nothing about us. About me.
I tried again sophomore year, only to get put back on c-team, and that’s when I quit.
I wish that I had a bigger voice back then to speak up about how I felt. About how every other girl even noticed that each girl had admitted to there being a bias on who the coach liked most. The girls who grew up in that town, the girls who had siblings in sports, the girls who the coaches knew. I was none of these.
To my coach, I wish you knew what you did to me. To the sport I loved. I had hopes, a love of a sport, and regardless of how good or bad I was, I was made to feel like I wasn’t meant to play. I don’t know about you, but a sport, or really anything, should NEVER be ruined for someone. If someone has a drive, or a passion, then it should be encouraged. Not discouraged. Now, I’m no coach, but I definitely know the situation was not handled how it should have been, and though you made a few girls happy, you made many feel heartbroken. Girls like me. Which is so unfortunate, because had you given me the chance, I could have been the best player you’d ever had. But why would I give any more effort than what I did to a coach that seemed so undeserving? There was no sympathy for me. No compassion. No faith. These things are things that every single team needs to thrive.
To my coach, I have no hostility towards you. No grudges. I only hope, though, that you know that this ruined a big thing for me. I could have been successful, but it’s all about the coaching. I still to this day hurt. I hurt when I see the baseball bat and glove I purchased, the expensive bag, my gloves, high knee socks, everything. I hurt knowing how much time I spent in Academy picking those things out, how much money my mother and I spent when we couldn’t afford it, how excited I was, just for all that stuff to build up dust in the garage and to never be touched again simply because the one person besides my mom that’s supposed to believe in me never did, and never gave me a chance. I hope you know, I am one of more than likely many others who have, and still feel this pain.
Hopefully, the coaching techniques have changed since then. But I can only hope so. If not, I hope they do soon. I feel my own pain as well as the pain the other girls have felt. If I could go back in time, I’d have done something different. Maybe I would have said this face to face, or maybe I would have given up sooner. Who knows. It’s simply upsetting that something so simple can make such a difference in someone’s life.
