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cabbagedad posted:
Go44dad posted:
cabbagedad posted:
Rob T posted:
 

Nope.  Empty is worse... direct shot, bucket shatters and you're flat on your a...  

Once when a taller assistant was lazy, he decided to stack a bucket in a bucket for a little higher seat.  Well, we all know there is no stronger force of nature than a bucket stuck in a bucket.  IMPOSSIBLE to remove.  Just throw that cluster in the trash 'cuz it ain't comin' undone.

Drill/poke small hole in bottom bucket.

Cool, keep going... where?  and then what? Is it an air pressure thing or something to try to latch on to?  I thought I had tried all the tricks but don't think I'd heard this one.  Water flush, heat up, freeze, etc.

Sorry OP, but a possible worthwhile sidetrack...

Turn the two buckets upside down.  Put your foot into the bail of the bottom bucket.  Grasp the top bucket in a bear hug w forearms, biceps.  Pull up.

Your bucket separating prowess will now be known county wide.  Folks will stare at you wide-eyed from afar.  Only the bravest souls will refer to you as King of the Buckets.  But only in a whispered voice of reverence.

 

It was at 16.........he turned into a man/child.......as a former catcher I was comfortable catching him, but his velocity increased so much from 15-16 that I realized that my catching Pitches days were over....

I also noted that a lot of my difficulty came from my umpire experience. In Umpiring, my job is to follow the pitch to the mitt with the eyes. Protected by MLB level gear, and usually standing behind a fairly talented catcher made me good at calling pitches but less capable of actually catching them....LOL.  

Great, great thread.  One for the ages.........

When he just needs to throw a few from 60' in the back yard, I'm still on the bucket at 85-88, but I bail out with no hesitation or shame.  For me it's the bifocal contacts and the bruised shin that's still bruised from like 4 years ago at 76-78.  And I too am very picky about the background colors.  I prefer green trees in background not neighbor's white washed clapboard!  Always annoys the kid when I ask him to "take three steps to your left!"

Now, day or two before a big summer outing and he doesn't have a "real" catcher to throw a true bullpen to?  Then I get the 4x6 screen out (best screen I've ever had for around the house, 4x6 upright rectangle) and simply sit on the bucket with my catcher's glove up in receiving position BEHIND the screen.   Even drag a dummy batter out and put him in front of screen, but me as catcher, sitting safely behind the screen with a camera, or a radar gun.  Obviously, I don't catch the ball (almost do, but netting is always between glove and ball, so it gives the pitcher about 90% of the sound and feel of a true catcher behind the plate) but it's about as close to real game/real catcher scenario he's gonna get when he's really bringing game like speed and effort.

Last edited by #1 Assistant Coach

I still play catch, but it gets rough, especially indoors with the crap lighting.  Combine that with wearing progressive lenses, the ball really dances around when it's 6-8 feet from me.  I'm close to hanging it up; not interested in one off the tip of the glove.  I've been feeling like a spaz lately playing catch with him.  

http://www.hayneedle.com/produ...ild&tid=MTC018-1

The exact 4x6 screen I bought years ago but from a different vendor.  Best screen for around the house, in the garage (soft toss), and for transporting in bed of pick-up to go to local field for real bullpens, sitting behind of course for simulated catching.  The standard 6x6 L-Screen is too darn obtuse to easily throw in bed of pick-up, and even awkward to simply move around period.  The 4x6 fits nicely in truck bed, and is a lot easier to transport around house/town.

Last edited by #1 Assistant Coach

I hung in there with the catching for a long time, nearly all the way through high school.

Long toss, however, humiliated me in multiple ways.

We'd go to a football field and dump out a bucket of balls under one of the goalposts. 

He'd stay at that end while I took the empty bucket with me. We'd use one ball until we reached the limit of my arm strength (didn't take long).

Thereafter, I'd rest my throbbing arm and just catch the balls and put them in the bucket.

He'd run out of baseballs about the time I was ready to score a touchdown at the other end of the field.

After I returned the full bucket to him, the real pain and terror would start: pull downs from ever decreasing distances until I was too scared or too bruised to continue, usually about 70-ish feet.

Swampboy posted:

I hung in there with the catching for a long time, nearly all the way through high school.

Long toss, however, humiliated me in multiple ways.

We'd go to a football field and dump out a bucket of balls under one of the goalposts. 

He'd stay at that end while I took the empty bucket with me. We'd use one ball until we reached the limit of my arm strength (didn't take long).

Thereafter, I'd rest my throbbing arm and just catch the balls and put them in the bucket.

He'd run out of baseballs about the time I was ready to score a touchdown at the other end of the field.

After I returned the full bucket to him, the real pain and terror would start: pull downs from ever decreasing distances until I was too scared or too bruised to continue, usually about 70-ish feet.

Uuuggghhhh.....   dirty words....    PULL DOWNS    

 

Sorta the  same feeling Santa gets in the Movie "Elf"....  "Oh no, its the CENTRAL PARK RANGERS".

 

cabbagedad posted:
Swampboy posted:

I hung in there with the catching for a long time, nearly all the way through high school.

Long toss, however, humiliated me in multiple ways.

We'd go to a football field and dump out a bucket of balls under one of the goalposts. 

He'd stay at that end while I took the empty bucket with me. We'd use one ball until we reached the limit of my arm strength (didn't take long).

Thereafter, I'd rest my throbbing arm and just catch the balls and put them in the bucket.

He'd run out of baseballs about the time I was ready to score a touchdown at the other end of the field.

After I returned the full bucket to him, the real pain and terror would start: pull downs from ever decreasing distances until I was too scared or too bruised to continue, usually about 70-ish feet.

Uuuggghhhh.....   dirty words....    PULL DOWNS    

 

Sorta the  same feeling Santa gets in the Movie "Elf"....  "Oh no, its the CENTRAL PARK RANGERS".

 

Awesome movie.

Last year somewhere between 81-84 I was catching son and CERTAIN I had the ball in the mitt, then funny thing happened and it was in the center of my chest 2 inches above the mitt! Had son pick up my cell phone off the chair close to him in case he needed to call 911 after I picked myself up off the floor! Then sometime in the early fall just playing catch he throws one off my leg just below my knee that made a sound that made me think my bone exploded! He of course thought he had broken my leg which was strangely fun for him! Bifocal contact lenses, 84 mph and natural lefty movement has relegated me to just tossing with him to get loose and then watching as he throws to a target. MUCH safer, but still very sad to see the big difference between being 15 and being 51!lol

Swampboy posted:

I hung in there with the catching for a long time, nearly all the way through high school.

Long toss, however, humiliated me in multiple ways.

We'd go to a football field and dump out a bucket of balls under one of the goalposts. 

He'd stay at that end while I took the empty bucket with me. We'd use one ball until we reached the limit of my arm strength (didn't take long).

Thereafter, I'd rest my throbbing arm and just catch the balls and put them in the bucket.

He'd run out of baseballs about the time I was ready to score a touchdown at the other end of the field.

After I returned the full bucket to him, the real pain and terror would start: pull downs from ever decreasing distances until I was too scared or too bruised to continue, usually about 70-ish feet.

EXACTLY my experience. The only difference is, I'm the one in a stationary location, and he's carrying the bucket. I think your way makes more sense. But I still hate pulldowns.

Stopped at age 17 for my 2016.  Always squatted and never wore gear.  When he left for college this summer, I caught his last bullpen and it was scary as hell for me but I would never tell him that.  He was sitting mid-80s then and topped out at 88mph.  2 seam run was hard on my failing eyes at 50.  Worst that ever happened was catching him indoors under crappy lighting when he was 15.  Took a FB that bounced right off my shin as I bailed.  That was the last time I caught him indoors.

The absolute worst hit was during a BP session in LL.  I was new to coaching then and didn't realize the cage I was in was made of chain link fence and had the poles on the inside.  Of course, kid smacks a line drive right into a pole and it ricochets off and is a direct hit to my temple.  I stayed on my feet but barely.  Finished the practice and suffered a concussion.  Tough lesson to learn but a valuable one.  Never been hit in BP since except some drops from balls off the top of the cage but those are fluffy anyway....

Swampboy nailed it. My only add was that I had the "opportunity" to catch him during his rehab this Xmas break, when he was throwing 50%. I stood sideways as I caught him as I  figured that I really only had to protect my temple in case my eyes failed me vs facing him or crouching as I used to do. That ball gets on you in a hurry!

I'm probably too stupid to quit, though since my 2016 is now off at college the "opportunities" with him are rare.

When 2016 would take pitching lessons, I would always take our catcher's gear and catch for them (no bucket, full crouch).  I figured the pitching coach could concentrate more on what my son was doing if he didn't have to focus on catching (or avoiding) the baseball.

Two incidents stand out:

About a year ago, he was taking lessons from YoungGunDad's son JW at the high school field.  JW had him do pulldowns over the mound, with me catching in a standing position.  Knowing that it was going to be coming in hotter and that framing the location wasn't as important, I took a few steps back from the catcher's box and basically stood with my back against the inside of the turtle.  Seemed like a good idea.  Except for my son and JW failed to tell me that he was going to throw splitters.  Only after the first one hit me in the bellybutton and the second one drilled me on the upper thigh did they remember to let me in on that detail.

A few weeks later we meet JW for another lesson.  In our haste, I forgot to check to see if the mitt was still in the catcher's bag.  So of course, it wasn't.  Instead of going back home to get our mitt, I borrowed JW's mitt he used with the 12U team he coached.  About 10 pitches in, son throws a fastball that looked to be heading a few inches off the plate, so I reached across my body to catch it.  The ball backed up over the corner at the last instant, which with me reaching for it caused the ball to square up the tip of my middle finger, which wasn't protected very well by that itty bitty youth mitt.  Before I could even get the mitt off, the entire fingernail was purple with blood, which actually started oozing out around the edges of the nail and from under the cuticle a few minutes later.  Pretty sure he fractured the tip of that finger, though I never got it x-rayed. (There wasn't anything a doctor would do to treat it any differently anyway.)  I didn't fully regain feeling in the tip of that finger for about 6 months, which made typing feel weird.

My 2022 is starting to grow like his big brother.  I catch for him more often now.  I'm not certain, but I think he has a bet with his big brother that one day he will injure me worse than 2016 did.

Last edited by MrBumstead
MrBumstead posted:

I'm probably too stupid to quit, though since my 2016 is now off at college the "opportunities" with him are rare.

When 2016 would take pitching lessons, I would always take our catcher's gear and catch for them (no bucket, full crouch).  I figured the pitching coach could concentrate more on what my son was doing if he didn't have to focus on catching (or avoiding) the baseball.

Two incidents stand out:

About a year ago, he was taking lessons from YoungGunDad's son JW at the high school field.  JW had him do pulldowns over the mound, with me catching in a standing position.  Knowing that it was going to be coming in hotter and that framing the location wasn't as important, I took a few steps back from the catcher's box and basically stood with my back against the inside of the turtle.  Seemed like a good idea.  Except for my son and JW failed to tell me that he was going to throw splitters.  Only after the first one hit me in the bellybutton and the second one drilled me on the upper thigh did they remember to let me in on that detail.

A few weeks later we meet JW for another lesson.  In our haste, I forgot to check to see if the mitt was still in the catcher's bag.  So of course, it wasn't.  Instead of going back home to get our mitt, I borrowed JW's mitt he used with the 12U team he coached.  About 10 pitches in, son throws a fastball that looked to be heading a few inches off the plate, so I reached across my body to catch it.  The ball backed up over the corner at the last instant, which with me reaching for it caused the ball to square up the tip of my middle finger, which wasn't protected very well by that itty bitty youth mitt.  Before I could even get the mitt off, the entire fingernail was purple with blood, which actually started oozing out around the edges of the nail and from under the cuticle a few minutes later.  Pretty sure he fractured the tip of that finger, though I never got it x-rayed. (There wasn't anything a doctor would do to treat it any differently anyway.)  I didn't fully regain feeling in the tip of that finger for about 6 months, which made typing feel weird.

My 2022 is starting to grow like his big brother.  I catch for him more often now.  I'm not certain, but I think he has a bet with his big brother that one day he will injure me worse than 2016 did.

J-Dub came in the door laughing about that day now that I think about it! LOL. 

I still bear a slight "seam" scar on my shin from catching him on our driveway. It came in low, skidded off the pavement and BAM, right into my shin. We were done for the day of course.

I stopped playing catch with him after he graduated from college 5/2016. However, he continued to play catch with an MLB pitcher who was his HS teammate who was recently placed in the 40 man MLB roster  this past Winter and pleasantly surprised that he gave him a little something after destroying his OF glove he used in college! Maybe someday we will have a Field of Dreams moment! 

Last edited by Ryanrod23

Well back at it with my 2019.  Long toss has been tough with flat light and white clouds camouflaging the ball.  Caught a bull pen yesterday for the first time since early fall.  We went to the field and it was much easier than the random places we have found around the house.  The black fence behind the mound made it easy to pick up the ball.  Plus he was hitting his spots really well.  

I stopped catching my son when he could throw an effective curve. Plus my youngest was a catcher so he usually caught for him anyway.

Now for the levity.

Actually long toss and not bull pen.

We were at a youngest sons tryout. Me and the older one were passing the time getting some long toss in. I could not get the ball back to him, so we had two buckets. I had one and and he had one. When I filled mine up we switched.

Now the smart alec kid decided he would see how his old Dad could hancle a ball with some movement.  So he throws something that has some velocity, and starts high then suddenly (at least to me) Is on a completely different trajectory than I anticipated. WHAM, right in the thigh, Major Charlie Horse. He and his brother are just rolling on the ground laughing, while I am doing my best not to cuss in front of a bunch of kids. Boy did it hurt. When we all recovered our composure. I said Ok, you got me, no more of that. And of coarse three throws later guess what, Wham right in the thigh.

I put my Glove in the Bucket and did not throw again until he got into college.

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