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Perspective is easy now that it is over

One time 20 some years ago, the Butte Muckers won a baseball tournament in Missoula.
This was a big deal because the Muckers were always kind of playing with one hand behind their back. They were Butte’s younger American Legion baseball team, and they played in the Class A.
The Butte Miners, who used to be Butte’s Class AA team, play in the Class A now.
That meant the Muckers were always playing against older players, and they rarely finished at .500 or above. So, winning the tournament was a big deal.
Making things even better was the fact that the Muckers won the tournament while playing all their players fairly equally. Every player on the roster got to see considerable playing time throughout the tournament.
The coach should have been nominated for Coach of The Year honors for pulling that off and winning the tournament.
After the Muckers won the championship game, however, a handful of angry parents verbally jumped the coach as soon as he walked out of the dugout. They were yelling at him because their son did not play enough.
These were not the parents whose players usually didn’t play much, either. They were the parents of the players who were used to playing all the time. They did not like that their sons had to sit on the bench more than usual.
They didn’t care if the team won. They were mad that their sons did not play every single inning.
To his credit, the coach told the parents to take a hike, and he quit on the spot. He was not going to deal with a group of parents like that, and Butte’s Legion program lost one of the greatest baseball minds we have ever known.
To this day, I am baffled by those parents.
One longtime coach once told me that most parents would rather have their son or daughter be named All-State than to have them play on a state championship team. Those Muckers parents sure seemed to prove him correct that day.
Of course, nothing brings out a person’s irrational side like being a sports parent. I have spent the better part of my career laughing at the high school and Legion parents who rail on the coach over playing time.
Then, four years ago, I became a high school sports parent myself, and I have seen a different perspective.
Now, I feel like I am a very rational person. I feel like I almost always put things in proper perspective. Eventually.
Sometimes I might find that perspective right away. More often it is later in the day. Sometimes it takes a week or longer. But I usually get there.
In the moment, though, I can be as nutty as the next guy. I have yelled at referees, and I have found myself angry with coaches who I have considered friends for years. I started to think that coaches with state championships under their belts were complete morons.
I did not tell them that, but I thought it sometimes.
There are still some decisions that I might not ever understand. But I have slowly come to the realization that the coaches are not obligated to give me an explanation.
That is something I knew long before my son started playing for the Butte High Bulldogs. The fog of being a parent, though, sometimes makes it less obvious.
I am not alone. Not by a long shot.
Every parent wants their child to play more, and it is often hard to be a parent of a baseball or softball player who is not getting the playing time we think they deserve.
You can see that as you look into the eyes of other parents at the games. Many of us have had our moments of anger. Most will get over that, but some will not. At least not right away.
Jeff LeProwse, the man who I think saved Butte’s Legion baseball program from fading away, gave me a reminder one time a couple of years ago. He said having your son our daughter be a part of a team is the greatest thing of all.
The players will take so much from the practices and the bus rides. The experience your son or daughter gains by buying into being a part of something bigger than themselves is more valuable than any home run they hit or touchdown they score.
I think I might understand that more than most because, as recently as five years ago, we did not think our son would ever play high school sports.
Back then, my wife and I were taking our son to Salt Lake City and Seattle to see specialists because we feared he might have muscular dystrophy. We thought there was a good chance he could be confined to a wheelchair by now.
He was such a good baseball player in Little League. Then, after a couple of flights to Missoula because of severe asthma attacks, Grady started to gain weight, and the muscles in his legs stopped working. He needed to pull himself into my truck with his arms, and running from the batter’s box to first base would take him about 10 seconds. But he still wanted to play.
In Seattle, we found a doctor who figured out that it was all the asthma medicine that messed with Grady’s body. The doctor figured Grady would grow out of his physical problems.
We took Grady to physical therapists Jake Querciagrossa and Beth Salusso, and they taught him how to run again. That enabled him to continue playing baseball — though he often needed a pinch runner — and he went out for the Butte High football team.
At his physical for his freshman year, Grady stood 5 feet, 4 inches, and he weighed 225 pounds. But he was determined to work. He worked out a ton at the Knights of Columbus, often staying way past his bedtime to get in more reps.
He worked as hard as any player I have ever known, even if some of his coaches did not see that because he preferred to do a lot of the work on his own. He figured it was more effective that way.
By the time of his physical for his senior season last summer, Grady was 6-foot-1 and 190 pounds. In three years, he gained nine inches and dropped 35 pounds. He does not have any problems running now.
Sure, he might have worked that hard to get into shape if he didn’t play football and baseball for the Bulldogs. But it is unlikely.
Playing those sports helped turn his physical life around.
Grady did not get a ton of at bats during his senior baseball season, and it is impossible to get into any kind of hitting grove when you only get one or two at bats a week. If that. Some games he did not play at all, and that was not always easy for a dad working as the team’s public address announcer.
But he was part of the team. He got to bat in the last inning of Butte High’s win that clinched a third-place trophy at the Class AA State tournament, and he reached base. It is the first trophy for a Butte High boys’ team since the Bulldog football team took home second place in 2019.
That trophy will be on display at Butte High forever, and Grady will forever be part of that team. Nobody can ever take that away from him and his teammates.
Likewise, nobody can take away the great memories of the practices, bus rides, wins, losses and important life lessons of playing football and baseball with his teammates. Really, that is what high school sports are all about.
That camaraderie outweighs wins, losses and playing time.
Now that his high school sports career has come to an end, it is easy to see that. In time, the proper perspective has set in. Hopefully, it will also register for those other frustrated parents out there.
But I’m pretty sure that there is no hope for those parents who jumped that Muckers coach.
— Bill Foley, who is really going to miss being a high school sports dad, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74 or Bluesky at @foles74.bsky.social. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.
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Episode No. 350: Hellacious Kate and Dino Mac

Their stage names are Hellacious Kate and Dino Mac, but you might know them as Katie Lockmer and MacKenzie Christinsen.
They are members of the Copper City Queens roller derby team in Butte, and you can catch them in action Saturday at the Butte Civic Center. The Queens will take on the Big Hole Brawlers from Idaho at 6 p.m. That will be the team’s last home bout until October.
Kate is a jammer, meaning she is one of the team members who scores the points. Mac is a blocker. Both are tough as nails, as are all the Copper City players.
Both are also relatively new to the team that began in Butte in 2014, and they both look to be competing in roller derby for years to come.
Tonight I met with Kate and Mac at the Knights of Columbus to talk about roller derby. It was a bit of an educational experience for me. It was also a lot of fun.
Listen in to hear how they got their roller derby names. Listen in to hear that Kate actually has two names. She sometimes skates under the moniker “80’s Katie,” and that name makes her take on a much different persona.
Listen in to hear how they got started in roller derby and why they have no plans to stop. Listen in to hear why you should be heading to the Civic Center on Saturday night.
You can buy tickets on line or from any of the Copper City Queens player in advance of the bout.
Today’s episode is presented by Leskovar Honda, home of the friendly non-commission sales staff that always has your back.
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She told me she was the lucky one

When driving from Butte to Missoula, you will see Pana Jo’s mountain.
Heading west as you go past the Bearmouth Chalet on the Clark Fork River, it looks like Interstate 90 is going to drive right into it. Then, the highway bends to the right to curve around what Google Maps calls “Medicine Tree Hill.”
It is a little hill that is mostly covered by trees, but it is one that distinctively stands out.
“I must have seen that mountain a thousand times,” Pana Jo told me a few months before her sixth birthday.
That was in the fall of 1996, and I have thought about my cousin Jody’s daughter each of the dozens, if not hundreds, of times I have driven to Missoula since that day.
Pana Jo, who lost her mother to an illness when she was just 15, passed away at the age of 35 a little more than a month ago. Every time I see that “mountain,” it makes me smile to think about how happy she was.
At the time, I was going to college at the University of Montana, studying journalism. Pana Jo was stuck in the middle of a divorce that was contentious, to say the least. Her mom moved to Missoula, while her dad still lived in Butte.
Every time I went home for the weekend, I would call to see if Pana Jo needed a ride so I could save her parents a few hours and some gas money. The chance to visit with my little cousin made me want go home more often because she was so much fun to be around.
She would roast me like Nikki Glaser, and she would engage in some incredibly deep conversations for such a little girl. Even though she was living through what I figured must have been a nightmare, she was always in a fun mood.
Sometimes we would get back to Missoula before her mom was ready to pick her up. So, I would take her to my dorm room, where we would get a pizza, watch cartoons and do a whole lot of laughing.
Pana Jo was so beloved by her entire extended family. She was born on Jan. 10, 1991, which was nearly three years after my cousin Jerry, an uncle Pana Jo never got to meet but heard so much about, was killed in an automobile accident in the Highlands.
Jerry was only 20 years old, and his death devastated our family. It still hurts.
Late in the night of Jerry’s wake, a few of us stood around his coffin in the front of the church. My older brother, who was amazingly stoic for the first couple of days after Jerry died, broke down and started to cry hysterically.
Jerry’s dad put his arm around him and said, “It’s OK. Something good will happen.”
It took a few years, but our uncle’s words proved to be correct. That something was Pana Jo. For the first time since Jerry’s death, Pana Jo’s arrival made it seem like it was OK for us to be happy again.
Thinking of my time driving Pana Jo also takes me back to a stressful time in my academic career. Back then, I was having some serious doubts about my chosen profession as a writer. I wasn’t sure I was good enough.
That was coming to a head as we were assigned what I thought was a difficult assignment in a 300-level class called “specialized writing,” which was taught by my favorite journalism professor Sharon Barrett. I had her for three or four classes previously. She was good, and she was tough. She held her students to a very high standard.
Today, this assignment seems rather easy. Back then, however, it was a different story.
Each student had to draw a piece of paper out of a hat. Each piece of paper had a word typed on it, and we had to write a story featuring that word in the first paragraph.
I drew the word “roof.” We could write about anything, but we had to use that word.
I don’t remember how long of a story this had to be, but it had to be a real piece of journalism. To pass one of Sharon Barrett’s classes, it also had to be good, and I was not sure I could make it good enough.
It was also early December, and this was our last big assignment. Adding to the pressure was the fact that I had to print one copy for the teacher and one for every student in the class.
We would dissect each story as we sat around the University of Montana School of Journalism’s iconic horseshoe table. If my story stunk, all the classmates I respected so much would see how badly it stunk.
As I stewed over the project, those doubts multiplied. Maybe I should try a different profession, I thought. Maybe I could go home and try a field at Montana Tech. Sure, I was three and a half years into my college career, and knew that I wanted to be a writer for years. But I could still change majors.
Then I drove Pana Jo to Butte on a Friday night. Like always, I picked her up on Sunday afternoon, and we headed back to Missoula.
As we drove down Continental Drive on our way out of town, Pana Jo spotted a Santa Claus decoration on the roof of a house, and she got excited.
She turned to me and boasted, “I’m lucky. Santa Claus comes to my house twice.”
I smiled as the little girl bragged about what must be about the only thing “lucky” about being the child of divorce.
When I was a kid, nothing scared me more than that scenario. Every time my parents would fight, I would fear the devastation of them splitting up. One of my best friends had a step-dad, and it just seemed to make his house feel like anything but a real home.
Never would I want to go through that, and I felt so sorry that Pana Jo was put into my worst-case situation. Somehow, though, it did not seem to faze her. She genuinely seemed to think she was the lucky one.
In an instant, I knew I had the story for my class. I was going to write about Pana Jo, the little girl who would not let a nasty divorce stop her from being happy.
I told her story as I wrote about all the fun we had on our rides back and forth from Butte. I wrote about how difficult that time was supposed to be for her and how she never made it seem that way.
Throughout the story, I sprinkled in some quotes from an interview I did with a social work professor at the school. I can still remember the first sentence, even though I do not have a copy of what I wrote.
“I’m lucky,” she told me as we drove past the Santa Claus on the roof of a house.
Then, I closed with a question she posed to me as I described the Santa Claus fading in my rearview mirror.
“Don’t you wish Santa Clase went to your house twice?” she said. “Yep,” I said. “You sure are lucky.”
To this day, I think that was my favorite story I ever wrote. My classmates really seemed to like it. More importantly, Sharon Barrett loved it.
In front of the class, she told me that when she read the story, fireworks were going off and champagne bottles were popping in her head. She said that I finally became the writer that she always knew I could be.
Just like that, those doubts were gone, and I once again felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.
And I owe it all to Pana Jo, that adorable little girl we already miss so much.
Yes, having Santa Claus go to your house twice must be pretty cool for a child that age. But of the two people riding in that car, I was the lucky one.
We were all lucky to have Pana Jo in our lives, even if she only lived to be 35.
I will get a reminder of that every time I drive past her “mountain.”
— Bill Foley can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74 or Bluesky at @foles74.bsky.social. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.





















