With Dusty Baker, the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy has an opportunity – Washington Post

When the din died down Thursday afternoon — and it did so only after Dusty Baker bellowed in a baritone, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” quieting with his hands – the two dozen third-graders gathered at his feet fired off questions. One of the children asked Baker who his heroes were when he was their age. His dad, he said. His dad first. And then he told a story.

Baker’s father coached him when he was 8, but then cut him. “He said I had a bad attitude,” Baker said. He coached him and cut him when he was 9, then again when he was 10. A boy popped up on his knees, right in front of Baker’s long legs.

“That’s cooooold,” the kid yelled. Baker smiled.

All those years ago, Baker had thrown his bat up against a wall, tossed his glove on the ground.

“What I learned,” he said, “is if you take that bad attitude, and you put it in a positive direction, now you can be something one day.”

As the sun went down over the fields outside the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy in the District’s Ward 7, here was Baker, working the room: wearing plastic gloves on his hands and a net on his head so he could hand out meals to kids, cutting out holiday cards with fourth graders, playing “Connect Four” with a pair of fifth-grade boys, watching the sixth-graders get in a game of baseball on one of the three meticulously kept fields outside the building.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this,” Baker said, looking around.

For all the ham-handedness of Baker’s news conference at the last week’s winter meetings, the 66-year-old – one of only two African American managers in the majors at the moment – has an understanding of what he could mean to his new community. And even before he dropped in for a visit, the community, understood, as well.

“Being a manager of a major league team, in a major city, in the nation’s capital – he’s got a bully pulpit,” said Paris Inman, one of scores of volunteers who help at the academy. “He can’t recruit and coach every kid in D.C. He can’t take his money and renovate every field all by himself.

“But he can talk about the importance of these fields being renovated. He can probably assemble people who want to be close to him and get them to donate the money that’s needed. But more than that, he can say, ‘We need people to show up to get training on how to coach kids.’”

This is the beginning of this relationship between Baker and this community, and already there are expectations. Inman, who raised two boys playing baseball in the LeDroit Park neighborhood in Northwest, sat last month with two other fathers of ballplayers in a small set of bleachers outside the fence of one of the academy’s fields. They talked about baseball, about the academy, about their boys, about Baker.

“I can tell my son, ‘Dusty Baker’s our manager right here in Washington, D.C.,’ and that’ll mean something,” said Neil Snell, who coaches his 10-year-old son with Kevin Anderson, who sat across from him. “He’ll understand a little bit more each year what that means.”

The Nationals Youth Baseball Academy would be here even if Baker wasn’t. The academy currently serves 144 kids from third through sixth grades, with a plan to max out at 216 kids as old as eighth grade. It provides not only opportunities to play baseball but also academic support and guidance on the importance of nutrition and physical fitness. During the school year, the kids come three days a week, and in the summer, the academy serves 180 kids for six straight weeks. There is a strategic plan to extend the program city-wide.

“So far, it’s done exactly what it’s supposed to do,” Anderson said. “It’s exposed these young African-American kids to baseball. But it’s more than that.”

Anderson lives in the neighborhood around the corner from the academy. Until this year, Ward 7 had no Little League. Before the academy, which began programming in late 2013 and opened its doors last year, there was no way for baseball to take hold. Now, there is an athletic centerpiece in a neighborhood in which the Annie E. Casey Foundation estimates 40 percent of the children under 18 live below the poverty line.

“Some of the neighborhoods, you can’t just go out and play, have a good time, go ride your bike,” Snell said. “But my son looks forward to coming here. Once you’re inside these gates, it’s like, ‘Okay, I’m home.’ They know they’re safe. They know they’re going to have some fun. They know they’re going to see their friends.”

On Thursday, the kids saw Baker and Nationals infielder Anthony Rendon in all sorts of capacities. When they emerged from the question-and-answer session with the third graders, Baker said, “Man, I’d like to bring some of that energy to the field.”

“They never get tired,” Rendon replied.

Almost without exception, Baker is the coolest cat in any room. Thursday, he smiled easily and moved smoothly from task to task. When kids offered impromptu embraces, he hugged back. When he picked up a pair of scissors to help cut out a Christmas card for one girl’s mentor – the academy relies on hundreds of volunteers to mentor the kids, adding to the 12 fulltime and eight part-time staffers it employs – he slowed himself, then sat in a chair.

“Let’s make this perfect for you,” he said, snipping the shape of a heart oh-so-carefully.

These kids, they might not know who he is now. Outside, as the baseball game raged on, one girl approached him. “You’re Mr. Busty? Something like that?” she said.

“Dusty,” he replied. “Dusty Baker.”

Give it time.

“I had four or five kids say they’re going to play for the Nationals someday,” Baker said. “Everybody’s not going to make it, obviously. But they can have a model. What else would these kids be doing right now? The chances of these kids not being on the street and doing their homework at 3:30 in the afternoon ain’t real good.”

As Rendon grabbed a glove and jumped in to play shortstop, Baker stood along the third base line, chatting with academy officials, with community members, with kids. Then he turned to the plate.

“That’s a good-looking batting stance right here. Look at this guy,” he said. Paul Anthony, a sixth-grader, took a swing and scalded a grounder. “Who’s that little guy? What a stance. I’m scouting now.”

He smiled as Anthony scooted around the bases. It was after 6:30 p.m., and he headed to the parking lot. This could be the beginning of an important relationship, if only for one thing: Will Dusty Baker be back?

“Absolutely,” he said. “Absolutely.”