We were driving into town to go to a little league baseball game. That’s one of the things that we do in late spring and early summer. It doesn’t matter if you know someone playing or not. It’s something to do. And we’re not the only ones. There are people out there, all over out there, watching those kids play.
The kids play at all ages. They start at 3 or 4 years old, playing t-ball. They are so much fun to watch. But they are nothing compared to their parents. The parents of a t-ball parent are the funniest thing to watch, period. They try everything in their power to urge their child to pay attention, to run after the ball, to not run after the ball, to throw the ball, to hold the ball. You can tell that they are dying to play for their child. You can also tell the ones who grew up playing ball. They’re helping to coach and they are out there on the field with their child.
I mentioned to another parent that when I was growing up, playing ball, they sold beer at the ballpark. Sometimes I think these parents would do well with a beer and just enjoy the game, instead of trying to make their child into the next Babe Ruth.
But the ballpark is a huge draw in the spring in small town America. There’s usually a game every night and some nights those games go on way past the little kids’ bedtime. So, the little kids play first and then the older kids get the later games. So if you want a night of entertainment all you have to do is get out there after work and you can stay until it’s past your bedtime.
Most of the ballparks in the area have a concession stand. You will hear applause or moans from the parents, depending on how good the concession stand is. The kids don’t care. As long as they can have a gatorade or water during the game and a bag of popcorn and a Sundrop after the game, they don’t care. They are truly in heaven if they get to get a ring pop. It’s the parents who are looking for the best concession stand food. They don’t want to go to that ballpark, they don’t grill. They don’t want to go to that one, they don’t have jalapenos for their nachos. They don’t want to go to that one at all, they don’t have anything. But when all the forces come together, they don’t mind going to that ballpark at all. Nothing is better than a grilled burger with a Sundrop and popcorn afterwards.
When you get to the ballpark the first thing is to find out where the team is that you’re going to cheer for. Then you have to find out who you’re going to sit by. Then you go to the concession stand and get that taken care of. Then you get ready for the game.
I’ve never been a nice spectator in little league sports. My children have had to endure me. My older children played soccer, not baseball. But I can remember my son, dribbling the ball up the soccer field, me cheering him on, him turning towards me as he went by screaming “shut up, Mom!” I have had to learn to shut up. But in little league baseball, back when my brother played, and my father and I were routinely thrown out of the ballpark, my passion still runs high. Yes, I was thrown out of a number of games. That was because we sat behind homeplate and called every ball. We were fine as long as the umpire called the pitches the way we did. But if he didn’t we had a tendency to get billigerent. It was all in good fun but most of the umpires didn’t see it that way. Well, anyway, that’s one of my favorite stories about my dad.
After a year or two of that I was asked to become an umpire. I never hollered at an umpire again.
Well, not until an umpire called strike upon strike at my kid who obviously had a better eye than the umpire did. I was fine if some other kid got called out. But I knew what it would do to my kid. So I became a little vocal. Now, my husband has figured this out about me. He has come up with a wonderful diversion for me. He sits me with someone who is not that into the game so that I can sit and gossip. Or he has me stand with him behind the bleachers so I can’t see the game very well and really don’t pay attention until my kid comes up to bat. My kid has learned to hit so if he’s struck out it’s usually because he swings at the ball coming at him. You can’t argue with that kind of strikeout.
I will tell you that I’m not the only one like that. I may be the most vocal but I’m not the worst parent out there. But those parents usually have younger kids. By the time the kids get older the parents are worn out with the game and are there to support their kids and to socialize. And for the concession stand.
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