“The Game”
By
Gerry Niskern
I remember a few years back when the age limits for kid’s baseball was lowered considerably. Naturally this pleased all dads everywhere.
The tiny wannabe ball player in our family was ready. His daddy had been practicing with him since he could catch a ball.
The Peoria Blue Devils were about to play their first game. If you asked any one of the three or four year old boys what position he played, the answer was always the same; “I’m the batter”.
Before the game started, the Devils had a little personnel problem. It seems we had to re-negotiate a player’s contract. My great-grandson balked. He hunched down in a lawn chair and refused to do the warm up exercises. When his daddy told him the exercises were required if you wanted to play, he replied, “Then I don’t want to play today.” ‘Okay, Dad,’ I thought to myself, ‘What are you going to do now?’
One of his grandmothers promised bubble gum if he played. No deal. Several family fans suggested the possibility of an ice cream cone after the game. No deal. Then big brother was recruited to take the field with him. That was the offer he was holding out for. Negotiations were closed.
As play got under way I heard a familiar chatter: no, not from the players on the field, but from the whirring of video cameras.
Before placing the ball on the tee, the coach asked each player to show him where first base was. Most didn’t know. That’s okay. They didn’t know where second or third was either. And they sure didn’t see the sense in touching home plate.
The lead off batter for the orange team stepped to the plate. “Strike one…two…finally on strike three he sent a grounder out in the general direction of a large clump of fielders that made up of the entire blue team. Orange batter immediately dropped his bat and raced after the ball. He carried it proudly back to home plate. His coach took it from him and begged him to run to first. “Run, run, over there, look, run to the man waving his arms,” he pleaded.
The next hitter for the blue team knocked a ball to right field. Our kid and a teammate both dove for the ball. Everyone agrees that the kid “has an arm on him” and could have sent it sizzling to home plate. Instead, he politely handed the ball to his teammate. Right about then I started having second thoughts about all those lessons on sharing in nursery school.
One solid hitter got on third right away and then collapsed in a heap of tears when he realized his daddy wasn’t beside him. He walked off looking for him.
Out boy was first up for the Devils. He swung once, twice, and connected with a crack of the bat as his ball soared. He got on first and soon scrambled on to second and third. Another blue Devil brought him in home. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face when he realized that the cheers of the crowd were for him!
In this league, the players took breaks as they say fit. They sought out mom, got drinks and did a little “lap sitting”. When one orange shirt was called back to the game, he replied, “ I can’t right now, dad, I have to kill these ants”.
At this age the teams only play three innings. It’s a good thing because the players were still willing to go to bat, but several of the red faced, sweating Devils refused to run bases. When that inning was over, the slap of high-fives could be heard as the two teams learned the closing ritual. The three year olds were pretty proud about finally playing their first baseball game, but not nearly as proud as ALL OF THEIR DADDIES