Infield Chatter

Tradition in baseball calls for players on the infield to talk constantly. Because there is time in between each pitch, and therefore time in between each play, ample opportunity exists for players to communicate to each other. The number of outs, anticipated plays, and defensive calls are spoken and repeated constantly to ensure that everyone is on the same page and everyone is in position to make the right play. Good teams do this.

Most important in my eyes, however, is talking to the pitcher. Mostly, the guy who is directly responsible for every play needs to hear that the other guys around him are there. In fatigue, struggle, adrenaline, and success, the steadying source of calm are the guys behind him letting him know that there's nobody they'd rather have on that mound right now than him.

As a high school umpire, I see all kinds of teams. Not many are good at this. At this point in the season, a lot of them have simply given up on chatter. The season has been long, and they are bored. They've won some, lost more, and they've found it's just not worth their time to be supportive for a sustained length. Silence is easier. More comfortable. Another type loves to talk, but it's talk to entertain. Mostly, the audience is themselves. Rather than helpful talk, it's sarcasm-laced, full of mockery, often in falsetto voices. Sometimes they mix in monkey or hyena screeches for fun. They are idiots, and they advertise it. Being funny is better than being good.

During my senior year of high school, our baseball team was bad. Special bad. One win all year bad. I pitched for that team, though I'm not sure you can call someone with my ERA a "pitcher." Still, what I remember from that year isn't the misery of twenty-something losses. Instead, it was the infield chatter, specifically from the Matts.

Matt Kain, our catcher, and Matt Nikkel, our 3rd baseman, were incessantly positive. Gregarious and funny off the field, they carried that personality between the chalk lines all year long. I was easily combustible on the mound, often allowing the frustration of a turn-style array of batters every inning to multiply my frustration. Whether the home runs I was giving up were the cause, or the error-plagued defense filled with 8th graders, the Matts kept me steady with encouragement and support.

It couldn't have been easy, staying positive in the midst of miserable innings inside of a disastrous season. They were, after all, losing as well. They didn't have control over the pitching; they were essentially waiting and hoping that I would do my job and find outs.

Or maybe it was easy. Maybe they simply made the decision to do it: Let's have fun playing baseball. Pouting isn't fun. Self-pity isn't fun. Effort is. Talking is. Supporting each other is. And so they did. As I said, I look back with a lot of joy on something that could have included anything but.

Umpiring now, I see that it's easy for teams to talk when they're ahead. It's second-nature to chat it up when you're winning. More fun for me to see, though, are the teams who communicate and cajole when they're down, when the game of inches is going a few feet in the other direction.

I realize now that infield chatter has gotten me through challenges throughout life. I've been blessed with a great infield, at my job, in my community, and in my family. I know the infielders I can count on, because they were talking me up even when I had my head buried in frustration. The score of the game didn't matter to them; they just knew playing at life was better for them and better for me when they were willing to chat between pitches.

Arrange your infield well. Find some Matts to play on your team. And learn to chat with them, whether you're winning or not. At the end of your season, you'll find the score didn't really matter much anyway.