Michael Lev: On Little League coaching, father-son bonding and moving on (maybe)

What I’ll miss most about coaching my son Austin’s Cactus Little League team is those rides to the park to get the field set up. We usually would try to arrive 10-15 minutes before everyone else. We’d lug equipment — buckets of baseballs, catcher’s gear, hitting nets, sometimes even the bases themselves — from the car to the dugout. Exciting, huh?

But it was our thing, for two straight springs. He might not have viewed it that way, but I saw it as a chance to bond with my son, knowing those opportunities soon would dissipate. He turned 14 this spring. He’s about to start high school. He’ll be able to drive himself to the ballpark sooner than later. He’s not going to need Dad anymore.

Hey, it was fun while it lasted. More fun than I ever could have imagined — even though our team lost far more than it won.

After years of serving as an assistant coach for Austin’s teams, I took the head-coaching plunge in the spring of 2021. He had missed out on his 12-year-old season the year before because of the pandemic, a crummy development for everyone his age. We didn’t know what the future held. But enough 13-year-olds signed up the following spring to form a 50/70 team. I wanted to be part of what I thought might be Austin’s last hurrah.

It was an incredibly fulfilling experience, despite a heartbreaking conclusion that I’ll get to in a bit. And it wasn’t the end!

The bulk of that team wanted to keep playing ball. So we did. We had a Juniors team in the fall (for which I served as an assistant) and got the gang back together again this spring — the last last hurrah.

It meant more bonding time with my son, more late nights formulating lineups, more chances to coach a loyal, hardworking group of young men. What could be better?

It was a blast. We lost our first five games but kept improving. We finished the regular season 5-11-1. We had just enough players to participate in the District 12 All-Star Tournament again — and right a wrong from last year.

Our 50/70 team — the 50 refers to the distance between the plate and the mound, the 70 the distance between the bases — had a legit chance to go to the State Tournament. All we had to do was defeat Copper Hills — the only other District 12 league playing 50/70 — in a best-of-three series.

We lost the first game on a walk-off … and the second as well. Why home field in Game 2 was subject to a coin flip after we already had been the visiting team in Game 1 remains a mystery. But I digress.

We opened this year’s six-team tournament against traditional powerhouse Sunnyside. I watched Sunnyside’s 17-6 victory over Copper Hills the previous night and worked up some rudimentary scouting reports. I wanted to give our guys every conceivable advantage. (Also, I’m obsessed.)

We played really well. We had the bases loaded with one out in the last inning of a 10-7 defeat. I assured our squad that if we played the same way the next night against Empire, we would win.

And then … we fell behind 7-0 after the first half-inning. Ugh. It felt like we’d been punched in the gut.

None of us wanted it to end like this. So we battled.

We responded with five runs in the bottom of the first. Empire counterpunched in the fourth, making it 12-6. We made it 12-10 … then 12-12. We trailed by a run, 14-13, entering the bottom of the seventh.

We were down to our last strike with a runner on first and our No. 9 hitter, Isaac, at the plate. He managed to work a walk. First and second, two outs.

Our leadoff hitter, Noah, who’d started to find his form after a rough start to the tournament, singled. The runner on second, Zach, came barreling toward third. I didn’t hesitate. I sent him home.

The throw pulled the catcher slightly up the first-base line. Zach slid in safely. Tie game.

Who was due up next? My son. Of course.

Austin had been working on his hitting for months. He began taking private lessons in December. He reworked his entire approach. He also had begun playing for the Tucson High School freshmen team in the Kino League. He’d seen a lot of good pitching.

Still, hitting is hard — especially under pressure. Austin fell behind 0-2. He fouled off two pitches. A wild pitch advanced the runners to second and third.

And then … Austin ripped a single to left. Isaac trotted home. “It’s over!” I screamed. “It’s over!”

I sprinted across the field. Austin said he’d never seen me run so fast. We didn’t know what to do. After attempting something vaguely resembling a hip-bump, I got out of the way to let the boys celebrate. This was their moment, two seasons in the making. They’d worked so hard. They deserved this.

I’d love to tell you that that highly improbable comeback win propelled us to State. It did not.

Two days later, our best player, Alex, took a comebacker off his ankle. He had to leave the game in the first inning. We already were running on fumes. We lost 14-4 to Copper Hills. Season over.

Coaching career over? TBD.

Austin is moving on. He held his own with the Tucson High freshmen. He’s going to give it his best shot.

But as Yoda once said, “There is another.”

My younger son, Merrick, played Little League for one season, in the fall of 2020. He didn’t like it and vowed he’d never play again.

Then, this spring, he began playing “MLB The Show.” He became obsessed with pitching mechanics. We talk baseball all the time now.

Merrick, who turns 11 this summer, might give it another try. I always tell him, “You need to learn how to catch before you can pitch.”

I know someone who’s available.