Arkansas District 3: Welcome
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If you have any questions feel free to email me at ArkDA3@yahoo.com or call me on my cell phone 501-350-7261.
Travis Young
Arkansas District 3 Administrator
Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Tuesday, July 14
Tuesday, July 7
Arkansas District 3, American/Eastern Softball and White Hall Little League would like to welcome the teams to the State Tournaments. We hope your stay in the Pine Bluff area is enjoyable. Please let us know if we can be of help...!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, July 3
Thursday, July 9
Tuesday, June 30
Thursday, July 9
Sunday, January 18
Congratulations Bubba and Jim...!!!!!
Dr. Jim Achorn will Umpire in the 2009 Little League Softball World Series in Portland, OR. August 13-19, 2009.
Bubba (William) VonTungelin will Umpire in the Big League Softball World Series in Kalamazoo, MI, August 7-12, 2009.
Sunday, January 18
Why We Coach Baseball by Pat Miller
Across the parking lot he came, "Brand X" from a Tide Commerical. A study of motion in confusion.
His energy seemed a by-product of the gum he chewed; when he blew a bubble, he came to a complete stop. Most of the time, he sucked the bubble back into his mouth with polished expertise, making his freckled cheeks bulge like a chipmunk's. But occasionally the bubble spread from ear to ear and nose to chin.
The green cap-brim angled to the right and barely controlling the carrot-orange spikes beneath it-rested on the ledges of his flattened ears and made it difficult to tell anything about his eyes. But one thing was certain; he didn't use them to tell where he was going. He depended on his chin, which he pointed out and up.
His jersey, once bright green, now somewhat olive, was further camouflaged with the remains of his mostly mustard and catsup lunch. Stamped across the front of the shirt (if you looked from armpit to armpit) was the name "Bandits," but it was hard to say if he was No. 6 or No. 8. You see, when he walked, the back of the jersey seemed to hiccup from the bottom right side in unison with the movement of his right leg. (Close inspection would have revealed that underneath the jersey, attached to the right rear belt loop of his pants, was a fielder's glove.)
With his left hand, he pulled behind him a bat that bumped across the gravel. It looked like it was attached by an invisible string to the bottom of his left stirrup which had slipped off his foot and ridden up over his heel. The stirrup flapped up every time the bat bumped down.
His uniform pants, once blinding white, now blended almost perfectly with the cloud of dust in which they were centered. From the knees, however, you would have concluded he was a one-man outfield who covered left, center and right without ever standing on his feet.
Laces, haphazardly looped through shoe eyelets, trailed in all directions and occasionally waved in ragged exhaustion, mutely testifying that they had no idea of what it was like to rest on top of a shoe.
He said not one word until he reached the dugout. Then, with the wad of gum poked in one cheek, a hand scratching his non-existant behind, and a grin that made your heart leap, he said, "I've come to play ball, Coach...!!!!!"
Sunday, January 18
WHAT IS A BASEBALL GLOVE?
A baseball glove is a beginning and and ending: a boy's first sure step towards manhood: a man's final, lingering hold on youth: it is a promise... and a memory.
A baseball glove is the dusty badge of belonging, the tanned and oiled mortar of team and camaraderie: in its creases and scuffs lodge sunburned afternoons freckled with thrills, the excited hum of competition, cheers that burst like skyrockets.
A baseball glove is a thousand-and-one names and moments strung like white and crimson banners in the vast stadium of memory.
A baseball glove is the leather of adventure, worthy successor to the cowboy's holster, the trooper's saddle and the buckskin laces of the frontier scout; it is combat, heroics, and victory... a place to smack a fist or snuff a rally.
Above all, a baseball glove is the union of father and son, boy and friends, man and men; it is union beyond language, creed or color.
(The Rawlings Sporting Goods Company, 1965)
Sunday, January 18
Every Parent should read this verse by Bob Fox
He Stands at the Plate with heart pounding fast.
The bases are loaded; the die has been cast.
Mom and Dad can not help him, he stands all alone.
A hit at this moment would send the team home.
The ball meets the plate; he swings and he misses.
There's a groan from the crowd, with some boos and some hisses.
A thoughtless voice cries: "Strike out the Bum."
Tears fill his eyes; the game's no longer fun.
So open your heart and give him a break.
For it's moments like this, a man you can make.
Keep this in mind when you hear someone forget.
He's just a little boy and not a man yet.....!!!!!!!