Twenty years ago, in my Little League coaching days, there was always that one kid on every sports team who, according to coaches, parents and random spectators, was destined for stardom.
While other players looked for worms in the infield between second and third base, a search that often occurred DURING games, this kid was firing darts from the pitcher’s mound. When it came time to bat, that same kid knew the strike zone and always made clean contact in the event a pitch actually entered the zone.
Meanwhile the parents of said superstar spent the entire game receiving accolades ranging from, “How nice that you won’t have to pay for college” to the more general, “Your child is a natural athlete.”
It’s the latter I’d like to discuss in detail. For there is no such thing as a “natural” athlete.
MJ, You are not the GOAT at…a few sports
Everybody, no matter how athletic, sucks in at least one sport. I don’t care if you’re Michael Jordan, Tom Brady or former decathlete Caitlyn Jenner. Have you ever seen basketball legend Charles Barkley, an Olympian and NBA Hall of Fame inductee, swing a golf club? I rest my case.
Celebrities aside, I’ve been around enough ordinary people, male and female, tagged with the “natural athlete” label. One of them was me.
As a kid, I could hit and field a baseball with aplomb. I was a state-ranked tennis player. I’m somewhat ambidextrous and could throw a football with either hand, making me an ideal team member for pickup games.
Even today, despite an assortment of aches and pains, I know my way around a pickleball court and can shoot in the low 80s on a golf course.
But put me on a basketball court? Be prepared to watch with a mix of amusement and horror.
I’ve been to college and professional basketball games where the halftime festivities include a lucky participant, chosen from the crowd, who must make a free throw, a three-pointer, a halfcourt shot or all three in return for a large cash prize or an automobile. Social media is full of videos featuring someone who did just that and was then mobbed by athletes who are paid — or will soon be paid — millions to do the same thing.
I’m Shooting Hoops. Cover Your Eyes
The entire sports arena would watch me dribble the ball with my right hand before taking my first shot with my left. I do this not because I am adept with both hands but because I am utterly incapable of pushing a basketball forward with my dribbling hand. I’ve used that hand to write term papers, steer an automobile and balance a serving tray. I can’t explain it, but that hand just refuses to work when a basketball is placed in it.
Perhaps I’d make the free throw. If so, I’d retreat to the three point arc and the real hilarity would begin. Following my futile attempt to get the ball anywhere close to the rim, laughter and murmurs would fill the arena. Little kids — even those not dubbed “natural” athletes — would ask, “Daddy, has he ever played basketball before?”
My half court shot would most likely land at the free throw line, where this entire sordid episode began. I’d finish by giving the crowd my best, “guess it just wasn’t my night” look, retreat to my seat and endure what would hopefully be only mild abuse from fellow game patrons.
The sad part of that scenario is that there would be no opposing players swiping at the ball or sticking their hands in my face while I embarrassed myself. You should see me in a pickup game.
So, parents of sports toddlers, don’t get too excited if they can catch a ball or skate around a rink without falling before reaching 5 years old. Don’t invite college coaches to watch next weekend’s T-ball game. Instead, enjoy the fact that your child is making new friends and learning about teamwork.
Their time to suck will be here before you know it.
