Right

I'm assistant coach for my son's summer league baseball team.  I have enjoyed it thoroughly.  We have a great group of boys and we've had a good season.  My task is to keep the boys in the dugout in line and the book.  I really like keeping the book and it gives me some purpose.  It also helps me focus and not yell so much :)

The other night we played a team we had not played before.  They were good competition.  We were having to dig deep within, which is good.  There wasn't another dad to help out so I also stood at first base giving my two cents to the boys when we were up...and kept the book.  (I probably need a little more practice at doing those two things at once!)

Anyway, in the second inning I noticed the score board had the other team up one run.  Young kids run the board and I'm glad they do, I figured I would correct them but let it go too long.  Middle of the third inning, when it was our turn to bat (and we would be batting last), the coaches realized our scores were off.  Our head coach asked me to go over and compare our books with theirs to get the correct score.  (It was important at this point, we were down three or four runs and this was the last bat.)

I headed over with the book, feeling confident about my work, but with an open mind (of course).  I could easily have made a mistake, especially when I was coaching at first base.

I  knew it wasn't going to go well when the lady keeping their book all but threw her book in my face and said, "Here, check it."  I was thinking we would check it together...She didn't keep her book like mine and I had a hard time making heads or tails of her markings.  I counted twice and came up with fewer runs than what she said.  When the fella came over to look, I realized (DUH!) that I was looking at our teams page and not their team.  There went my credibility.  Goodness.

But even when looking at the correct page in my book and comparing to hers, it did not match. Suddenly, the discrepancy caught my eye.  Their third out was the runner on third getting thrown out at home.  She had the two runners AFTER that runner scoring.  There is no way that could've happened...

As I was getting ready to explain this, there was a 'bad' call on the field in our favor and they went wild.  I didn't see what happened, but there had been a couple close calls earlier (again, in our favor) and these folks were HOT.   Part of me wanted to stay right in there and argue with these coaches about the last out and how their runners could not have possibly scored.  I assume my book was correct.  We were the home team.  

And frankly, I love to win.

And then I decided I didn't want to get punched, so I walked away and headed back to our team without really coming to a conclusion on the correct score.

Our fans asked me on the way back what the score was and I told them we disagreed by one run on their score.  As we went through that final bat, I was asked a couple times what the score was.  Again, I reiterated the score I thought was correct, according to my score keeping.

But as I thought about this later on, it occurred to me, I really need to be more concerned with doing right rather than being right.

These boys are watching me.  Parents are watching me.  Strangers are watching me.  God is watching me.

I don't want this team to get ticked at our summer league program and not come back.  It wasn't anything personal from my standpoint, as far as the score keeping, I was sincerely trying to figure out the discrepancy and see if I was wrong...and get it right.

Isn't that the way life is though...we get so wrapped up in being right that we forget to do what is right. I should...Do the right thing even though I may feel cheated.  Do the right thing even though it wasn't what I had in mind.  Do the right thing even if I may get in trouble. Do the right thing even if I might lose...

We ended up winning the game anyway - by one run according to them, two according to me (Ahh, can I really let it go?)

But I walked away with a new tidbit - I would rather do right than be right.

It kind of goes along with one of my favorite verses:  For it is better, if it is the will of God, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil.               1 Peter 3:17 (NKJV)

The transition

People have often said I say or do things just like my grandma did...but it's getting worse than that...much worse.  I'm afraid I'm starting to sound like the Quackdaddy.  Last night was another perfect example.

We went to Dairy Queen after Lane's ball game and were in the drive-up.  I was driving so I placed the order and all I wanted was a child-sized chocolate cone.  Very simple.  Nothing you have to mix or chop.  So easy...except they didn't have any chocolate ice cream.  I am not a fan of vanilla ice cream so when they are out of chocolate, I'm at a loss.  (Insert Jay laughing here because this happens all the time and he finds it funny.)

We pull around and she opens up the window.  I ask her why they do not have chocolate ice cream and tell her that the Marshall DQ has chocolate ice cream all the time and it's very good (as if that will change her mind about whether or not they have chocolate ice cream).  She looks at me like "what am I supposed to do?" and shuts the window...probably cussing me to her coworkers.  Apparently at this DQ, they clean the machine every Monday night.  I will have to remember that.

As soon as she shut the window, I looked at my family and said, "I sounded like the Quack just then, didn't I?" Uh-huh.

Because I could just hear him...The Quackdaddy has this thing about hot, fresh coffee.  If the waitress can't guarantee it's hot, fresh coffee, he doesn't want it.  He asks repeatedly if she knows whether it is hot and fresh. Everywhere he orders coffee, this is the spiel, and he keeps track of which places have hot, fresh coffee.

A month or so ago after we were at a softball game in a nearby town.  There was a very controversial call (in our favor) and the opposing coach was livid which earned him a seat in the dugout for the remainder of the game.  I couldn't for the life of me understand what had just happened and no one around us really seemed to know.

After the game we went to a cafe up the road for supper and that coach and his family and another family came in.  After we finished eating, I told my crew that I was going to go ask that coach what the deal was with that call.  They all but begged me not to and high-tailed it to the car when I headed over to his table.  I had a nice little chat with the coach and the rest of his table, got the low-down on the peculiar call and was sure to tell them that my family was hiding in the car embarrassed of me.

I can pretty much talk to a brick wall.  I don't see a problem in it as long as I'm not being rude or obnoxious (which almost never happens...I think).  I always feel the need to explain myself or offer more detail than necessary in certain situations, and I enjoy striking up conversations with complete strangers.

It's inevitable.  The transition is taking place.  I'm becoming the Quackdaddy...