Dana White, King of MMA

bases. Two of his uncles were running around the outside of the fence toward Dana
hollering for him to pick up the ball and throw it. Dana just stood there looking
around, trying to figure out what all the screaming and hollering was about. Every
adult at the game was screaming and hollering, either for Dana to pick up the ball or
for the batter to keep running. The batter did keep running and Dana did not pick up
the ball. The batter got an inside-the-park homerun.
Dana went to all of his practices and to the games every week. His coach was a
nice guy who took all the boys out for ice cream after each game, and win or lose; he
told them all what a great job they had done. Dana was lucky to have this man as his
coach because some of the other coaches were all about winning and not the kids
having fun.
In those days, (the seventies), there was no t-ball; the boys pitched to each
other. At the very beginning of the season, Dana was hit by a pitch and was afraid to
get too close to the plate after that. Every time he got up to bat, he would strike out.
Many times, he did not even swing at a single pitch. Even though he was not a very
good baseball player, the kids all liked Dana, who was very sweet and friendly. I
would always tell him he did good, that he almost hit the ball when he did swing at it,
and that next time I was sure he would hit it. In fact, the last game of the season,
during his last time up at bat with two strikes against him, it was like a Red Sox
moment — he swung and hit the ball. Not only did he hit the ball but he made it safe
to first base. Every parent at the game, including the parents of members of the
other team, were on their feet cheering for him. One woman who was with the
opposing team asked one of the other moms why they were all clapping and hollering
for Dana on the opposing team, and she said, “He’s played every game and never got
a hit before.” The next year he played little league again but improved only slightly.
Dana also played peewee football and was again small compared to some of the
other kids. His uniform was too big, and when he put his helmet on, he looked like a
little bobble-head running around on the field. I never had to push him to go, and I
never remember him telling me he did not want to go, but rather, he faithfully went
to all his football practices and to every game.