The major league baseball pennant races are heating up for the September stretch run; the sports pages of newspapers all around the country are filled with stories about key players on the contending teams and how they can make a difference.

Jim Abbott, the inspirational one-armed rookie pitcher for the California Angels. Cal Ripken, Jr., the steady, durable leader of the Baltimore Orioles. The list goes on, ad infinitum.

Each day, as the personalities of these key players are bared to the public in newsprint, I am further amused by the truth of the old statement that if art does not imitate life, then perhaps life will imitate art.

If that confuses, then here is the explanation: This past summer, I had my first experience coaching softball. The league was made up of co-ed high-school-age teams, and was organized by the venerable CYO office.

I suppose I expected it to be a "fun" league -- and don't get me wrong, it was. Yet, just as in the big league pennant races, the personalities on my team, and around the league, varied so greatly that I ended the season convinced that I had learned more about dealing with people than dealing with them as shortstops or pitchers.

There was the fiery, redheaded third baseman who alternated making great plays and bobbling easy ones -- her frustrated screeches with each boot were just as memorable as some of the dazzling stops she made. Yet, at the close of each game, she left the frustrations there on the field and went home to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Unfortunately, this was not the attitude of the whole team -- for, as should have been anticipated by the rookie coach, there were players who took the game so seriously that they still, to this day, complain about an umpire's call made in July.

But there was also the outfielder who belly-flopped into a mud puddle after a fly ball; he came up without the ball, but with a big grin on his face. This was in stark contrast to the opposing coach who resorted to swearing and insults in response to what sbe viewed as a rules infraction.

Obviously, the level of seriousness with which the different participants approached the league varied greatly -- and it was a learning experience for the entire team. It's difficult not tolash back at an infielder who tried to trip you or a catcher who calls you names, not to rub it in the face of a team you are beating resoundingly, not to resort to getting down and dirty in a game in which you are getting beaten resoundingly.

Perhaps this, too, was to be expected -- people react differently to the pressures of competitive sport. But to that, Sparky Anderson said it best: "Pressure? This ain't pressure. When you got no job and a wife and three kids to feed, that's pressure. This is easy."

Of course, some people make the sport look a lot easier than others -- and that, too, can be part of the problem. My team ranged in talent from the four senior guys who alternated at first, short and pitcher and combined to hit about .930, to the sophomore girl who had never swung a bat in her life before this summer. This "talent gap," as one umpire rather rudely termed it, can cause more internal problems on a team than any external antagonist.

So perhaps the best part of the whole season was the game when three of the "talent gap" girls got base hits in the seventh inning to spark a late rally. Their teammates on the sidelines went wild with cheering and support. We lost the game, but that hardly mattered.

For the record, the columnist-coach's team finished the season 6-5-1 after a blistering 4-0 start (okay, okay -- that included three forfeit wins), so even though there was to be no post-season tournament for this team, the post-season team party was a celebration nonetheless. We learned a lot about ourselves -- our abilities, both athletic and in controlling our reactions to adversity. Again, perhaps we learned more about ourselves as people than as players.

The traditional awarding of the team MVP honors was a capsule of how the season turned out. The award went not to the best hitter or top fielder, but to the player who could tell the most embarrassing story about him or herself from the season. Sounds to me like a team that got beyond worrying about winning and concentrated on learning -- and what better philosophy for a team in a CYO league?

Well, maybe not everybody adopted that philosophy -- as the post-season party drifted to a close, one of the quieter, less aggressive girls on the team left her coach with the parting words (apologies to Brooklyn Dodger fans worldwide), "Yeah, this year was fun. But just wait 'til next year."