Baseball practice was often preferred over the actual Little League games.
At practice, there was repetition and continuous chances to improve technique with immediate feedback for improvement — without the pressure or consequences of how an error could affect a game’s outcome.
Practice meant errors and mistakes were okay: This is the very nature of practice to improve and learn in a cycle that builds automatic reactions and situational awareness.
Or so I thought. I had one coach for whom practices were more serious than the actual games. I was aware of the “practice hard” and “practice like it’s a game day” approach as this would elevate focus and make the game seem easier, and less challenging.
But this one coach brought an intensity to the practice field that was not present when we played opponents in front of parents and family.
He seemed to have a particularly focused intensity on me and my play: Criticizing my fielding stance even though I cleanly picked up a difficult ground ball or calling out my arm angle while throwing in time to first to beat the batter.
I didn’t get it. I was the best glove in the infield and solid at the plate yet I could not escape his yelling no matter the result.
One afternoon, sensing my confusion and near-watering eyes, he pulled me aside and very strongly but simply said: “I only yell at you because you’re the only one out here with potential, and that matters.”
My takeaway since has been that if I am not getting criticism or feedback on performance — whether it is in the classroom or at the office — then I need to be doing better so that I matter.
