OLYMPIC-SIZE RED TAPE HURTS SPECIAL ATHLETES

They are in a league of their own, these proud athletes.

The 15 softball players who make up the Mead Pride range in age from 15 to 65. These people are challenged by varying degrees of retardation and disabilities.

They don't play other teams on a regular basis. They practice twice a week for months with a single goal in mind - to compete against their Special Olympics peers at a big regional tournament.

They've done this for 15 years, but not this summer.

A coach's innocent blunder and the stubborn bureaucrats who run Special Olympics have created a heartbreaking situation for these gentle souls.

There will be no annual softball tournament for the Mead Pride on Saturday in Yakima. No flag ceremony. No chance to go the state championship. No medals. No reciting of the Special Olympics oath: "Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."

Parents of Mead Pride players are devastated and angry. They know the gravity of this event.

"This is one of the biggies," says Billie Mitchell, whose 31-year-old son, Shelby, pitches for the Mead Pride.

"They don't have a whole lot of highlights in their lives. They just want to play ball."

The Mead Pride players are the victims of regulations and red tape.

Their volunteer coach, Mike Burns, waited too long to register his Mead Pride for a tournament the team has been a part of year after year.

Salaried Special Olympics pooh-bahs say their rules won't bend far enough to let the team in.

"I don't want to penalize the athletes because of a coach," says Debbie Stankovich, a Special Olympics regional director based in Richland.

"But I don't want to jeopardize the event for everybody who followed the rules. ...they (the Mead Pride) won't play, that's just the way it is."

Burns concedes he "screwed up" and feels sick about it.

He didn't attend an important coaches meeting May 19. In his defense, the meeting took place a week after Burns returned from a five-week working trip to Japan.

Burns is an English teacher at Spokane Community College. He says he called the Special Olympics leaders back then and asked them to mail him the registration packet.

The bureaucrats don't believe him. They can't find anyone who remembers taking the man's call.

"Why would I fabricate something like this?" says Burns. "I don't give a...what these people think of me."

The Special Olympics' organizational skills may not be in the best shape. Stankovich says she can't find any record that Burns, who has coached for two years, is even a coach.

She can't locate the volunteer form he says he filled out. Nor can she confirm his background was ever screened and cleared by the Washington State Patrol.

Mitchell, who has been involved with Special Olympics as both a parent and coach, says the administrative disarray is typical. She swears Burns jumped through all the required hoops to be able to unselfishly give up his time coaching disabled people.

Not letting the Mead Pride play ball this Saturday makes perfect cold logic.

The game brackets have been drawn. The paperwork is complete. It would be a major inconvenience to give Mead Pride a break.

But the Special Olympics bureaucrats may have confused their organization with the real Olympics starting Friday in Atlanta.

This softball tournament isn't really about softball.

This is a celebration for some precious people who weren't dealt a very good hand.

Looking at it that way, can there be a good reason to exclude the Mead Pride?

"I love to go to the tournament," says Ruby Wheeler, the oldest Mead Pride player at 65. "It's exciting. I like to get the medals."

Copyright 1996 Cowles Publishing Company
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