The Moral Responsibility of Competence in High-Stakes Decisions
During my first season as a baseball coach, a game escalated far beyond baseball.
The cops were called, and one of my coaches was ejected in front of players and parents.
That was the moment I learned that not knowing is no longer neutral when others depend on you.
My wife and I were discussing plans about our children and what we were looking to teach them. One area that popped up in discussion was sports. My wife wasn’t sure that they were quite ready for sports and the thought of a contact sport was completely out of the question. I played every sport I could get my hands on throughout my life. One of my favorite sports that I discovered in High School was Rugby. Oh what a beautiful sport that is. I played for a couple seasons with the Daytona Beach Coconuts in college, so I was no stranger to a hard-hitting contact sport.
We decided to give MMA a try with a local gym. We lasted 6 weeks. Myself and my oldest son were taking kickboxing classes. I enjoyed the technical side of it, however, I did not enjoy the 8 week long bruise I had on my thigh from kicks.
With a contact sport off the table entirely, we looked at other options. I suggested baseball because I played it when I was younger. That was my sport as a kid. Not soccer, though I did chase a good butterfly across the field, and certainly not football. I was pretty good at baseball, nothing to write home about or expect a full-ride scholarship on talent, but I did catch the playoff championship game winning ball to center field to throw out the runner at 2nd who didn’t tag up (insert flex emoji). I knew what the sport could give to our children and I have always been a very involved dad. I’ve even been nominated as a dad-mom at the park…. Yeah I know how that sounds but who else can say they hold a title of being so present with their kids that it doesn’t get ignored?
Baseball signups had just opened up for the Spring season so we just dove right in. I put down that I was willing to be an assistant coach for both my sons, one in AA (Machine/Coach Pitch) and A (T-Ball). About three days later I received a call from the commissioner’s wife. She handled all the signups and orchestrating teams to ensure we would have enough for the season. It was a simple introductory phone call, gathering information, seeing who I was, etc., all because I showed interest in coaching. By the end of that call she had asked me if I was willing to manage a T-Ball team. I had no clue what that would include, nor did I know what I would be getting myself into.
The only reason I said yes without hesitation was due to their not being enough managers for teams and basically if I said no, then there would be 14 kids who didn’t get to play this baseball season. I’m an adult, a former teacher with an Elementary Ed degree, how hard could it be?
I was humbled very quickly. Assessments came and I had to derive my own system for how I wanted to approach picking players in the draft. Every other coach was seasoned with over four seasons under their belt each. I stood no chance in trying to pick a winning team on merit. What else could I do? It didn’t take me long to realize that I needed to go back to my roots on why I loved the game. I decided to pick players, and parents, who showed the most interest in being there. The ones who had a smile on their face. The ones with the best attitudes.
It worked. I had a team of T-Ballers who enjoyed being at every practice, gave me hugs before and after every game, and the parents loved my style of treating the kids with patience and respect. But by the end of the season when it came playoff time, things got ugly.
See, I didn’t get to pick my coaching staff. I asked parents if they were willing to step up and help me because I had no clue what I was doing but I do know how to teach your children the basics of baseball. Some stepped up and helped, I am forever grateful to you all, you know who you are. What also happened behind the scenes were some coaches from a previous team were offering to coach because they couldn’t commit to being a manager, which meant that they’d offer assistance to the new guy. Sounds like a win-win to me. Everything was going smoothly throughout the season. I rotated players every inning to keep them engaged and to test out their attention span. Some kids just weren’t ready to play baseball. They had no care in the world while spinning in the outfield and throwing their gloves up in the air. It’s T-Ball, it’s not supposed to be that serious, right?
Then the playoffs came. It was time to take it seriously. I thought we should try to push the kids a little bit as a team to see what we could do. I talked to the parents to make sure they were on board and nobody resisted. They all were thrilled with the progress so far and had no issue if their child was stuck at 2nd base for the whole game, they already played every spot multiple times. They also wanted to see their kids put to the test.
I want to say that what transpired next would be because of the kids, but it wasn’t. It was my lack of putting my foot down and being a leader. I didn’t know that one of my coaches had a superiority complex and was super competitive. The kind that would get parents into a fight and the cops called. You would think that at a T-Ball game for 5 and 6 year olds, you would know how to keep your composure as an adult, but the game got the best of them huh?
I won’t defend that coach in any way, regardless of the events that transpired. The yelling, the screaming, the charging at people, the sarcasm and rudeness, it was an ugly set of events that spiraled from one person. This was from someone who I had never known, would never know, and no longer cared to get to know. Since I didn’t know them, they weren’t my responsibility. I volunteered to coach the kids, not wrangle in adult behavior that has gone too far.
Cursing matches and yelling by both sides of parents. The game resulted in a close forfeit because parents couldn’t endure the embarrassment any longer. That coach was not welcome on the field anymore for the final game.
By my choices and teaching ideologies, and the kids phenomenal talent, we finished 2nd place in the tournament. I truly believe if we had another inning to play, we could have won. It was there and the kids wanted it. The storm that God sent was clearly a message. Take your lessons and dwell on them, you’re not ready for this.
I spent the next season focusing more on my coaches. I learned my lesson the hard way and would rather do everything myself than allow a coach to act like that in front of the kids. The display of behavior that day went against everything I stood for. It has been the main motivator as why I coach two teams now and both teams were front-runners in the league. I have parents reaching through the network of contacts to get a hold of me to try and reserve a spot for their kid on my team because of how I coach. That means the world to me right next to being at the pitchers mound throwing the ball to my oldest son for him to hit his first home run ever.
That season didn’t make me a better coach overnight. It made me more honest about what leadership demands. I learned that saying yes carries weight, preparation is a form of care, and ignorance becomes a liability the moment others trust you. Not knowing isn’t a failure, staying there is.
Keep going strong Mariners. We’re taking home the championship this season.
About the Author
Nick Swinehart writes about leadership and life through real-world decisions, where clarity, responsibility, and long-term thinking matter more than certainty. Drawing from experience in education, entrepreneurship, family life, and real estate, his work explores how people navigate complex choices without theatrics or shortcuts. His essays are written for those who value substance over noise.
Nick Swinehart - Realtor® 
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