If you’ve been anywhere near a baseball field in Central Arkansas lately, you already know…
Baseball season is in full swing.
Fields are packed. Parking lots are full. Lawn chairs are lined up like they’ve got assigned seating. And somewhere, at just about every game, there’s at least one person very confidently explaining the strike zone.
And these days, I’m not just watching the game…
I’m watching the umpire.
Because my husband, Speedy, is back out there, calling games all over Central Arkansas. Different fields, different teams, different ages — but one thing stays pretty consistent no matter where you go.
Everybody has something to say.
Now, let me be clear — that’s part of what makes baseball fun. And if I’m being 100% honest, when my kids were playing (and Speedy wasn’t in the hot seat) I’m absolutely guilty of being that patronizing voice from the stands when things weren’t going our team’s way.
{Pause for shock and awe!}
The chatter. The energy. The excitement from the stands. The grandparents cheering every play like it’s Game 7 of the World Series. The parents who can’t sit down because they’re living every pitch right along with their kid.
That’s the heartbeat of youth sports.
But when you’re watching from a slightly different perspective, you start to notice a few things.
You notice how players respond to adversity.
You notice how coaches handle pressure (or maybe don’t…).
And you definitely notice how people respond to the person behind the plate.
Because here’s the thing — the umpire isn’t just part of the game.
He helps hold the game together.
And what I’ve seen lately is a mixed bag.
I’ve seen players shake off a tough call and get right back in the box like nothing happened. I’ve seen kids encourage each other after errors, pick each other up, and keep playing hard no matter the score.
And honestly, that’s what you love to see.
But I’ve also seen moments where frustration takes over.
A bad call (or at least a call someone thinks is bad), a close play at first, a strike zone that maybe feels a little tight or a little wide — and suddenly emotions start to rise.
And that’s where things get interesting.
Because kids are watching everything.
They’re watching how their coach reacts.
They’re listening to what’s being said in the dugout.
And yes… they’re definitely hearing what’s coming from the stands.
And if you’ve ever sat behind home plate, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
There’s always that one voice.
Or two.
Or ten.
The play-by-play commentary. The second-guessing. The “helpful suggestions” shouted from behind the fence. The grandparents who mean well but maybe get just a little too invested in the moment.
And look — I get it.
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When your kid is out there, it feels big.
But what I’ve come to realize watching Speedy umpire is this:
The game is shaped just as much by the people around it as the ones playing it.
The best environments — the ones where kids thrive — aren’t necessarily the ones where every call goes perfectly.
They’re the ones where:
- Coaches stay steady
- Players support each other
- And the adults in the stands remember what the game is really about
Because the truth is, umpires are human.
They’re making real-time decisions, in real conditions, without slow motion replay or a second look.
They’re going to miss one every now and then.
Just like players miss a ground ball.
Just like hitters swing and miss.
That’s part of the game.
But respect?
That should always be part of the game too.
One of my favorite things I’ve seen recently wasn’t a big play or a great hit.
It was a coach calmly talking to an umpire between innings. No yelling. No scene. Just a conversation. And then both sides moved on and kept the game going.
That’s how it’s supposed to look.
Because at the end of the day, youth sports aren’t just about wins and losses.
They’re about what kids learn while they’re out there.
And sometimes the most important lessons don’t come from the scoreboard.
They come from how people handle the moments when things don’t go their way.
So the next time you’re at the ballpark — cheering, clapping, maybe even questioning a call or two — just remember:
That umpire behind the plate?
He’s someone’s husband.
He’s someone’s dad.
And just like everyone else out there, he’s doing his best to be part of a game that matters more than we sometimes realize.
Because the way we act on the sidelines?
That’s how the ball really bounces.
Until next week…
Read more from How the Ball Bounces with Bekka in the archives at www.mysaline.com/bounces.
About the author: Bekka Wilkerson is a lifelong lover of all things sports. Raised in a super athletic household it was no surprise when she too began to love sports at a young age. It seems like from the time she could walk she had a softball bat in her hands, but her true athletic passion came from all things Basketball. That love served her well as a Bryant High School Lady Hornet and ultimately earned her a full scholarship to play at the University of Central Arkansas – among many other adventures.
These days Bekka can be found running around Saline County with her husband, Speedy, or chasing one of her grandsons. She is also the Executive Director of The EMpact One Foundation, a Saline County Nonprofit Organization that helps young people stay connected to extracurricular activities through tuition assistance and equipment provisions.
Reach out to Bekka with questions and/or ideas about things you want to see in this column at [email protected] and learn more about The EMpact One Foundation at www.empactone.org.
