AMusings

Little League = Big Fun

Springtime means one thing for gentlemen between the ages of 9-16: it is time for little league to begin. My little league memories are some of my favorite memories of my whole life. The season begins around late March when you are drafted either by a father of one of your league mates, or a volunteer coach who sends off pedophiliac waves a mile long. That coach then calls you and alerts you that you have been drafted by him and his team. That is not important at all. The next day in school is important. You get to ask your friends whose teams they are on, and see if any of them are your teammates.

That situation was always a little hard for me because I wasn’t very good. Who the hell am I kidding? I was terrible. I played my allotted 3 innings in right field, batted last in the order, and often times found myself not even having to shower post game on a 90 degree day because I didn’t move around enough to work up a sweat. When my teammates saw me walk into the first practice there would be audible moans and groans, and at least one chuckle as I lumbered towards the dugout.

I don’t want to say that I was not an important part of the team. I mean, sunflower seeds needed to be eaten, the scorebook needed to be kept, and the mothers in the stands needed a good conversationalist. I excelled at all three.

The next step in little league was practice. Every other day in my world, we would go out there, field ground balls and pop ups, and learn the correct way to baserun. (Due to my healthy figure, I was only allowed to lead off of first base with one step, while the others were allowed to walk half way to second.)

Batting practice usually didn’t start until about 2 or 3 weeks prior to opening day. This was one of the more embarrassing points in the season for me. I couldn’t hit in July. How the hell was I going to make contact when I hadn’t picked up a bat in 6 months, and my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweatshirt was too small and cutting off circulation to my all important wrists?

The final obstacle towards opening day was picture day. I know this may surprise those of you who have seen my profile picture here at Celebrate the Temporary, but I’m not a terribly photogenic person. I don’t blame the photographers though, I blame the fact that I am a morbidly obese man who looks strangely like Rosie O’Donnell.

During picture day there were three things you had to do. First, you had to line up in order according to height. This was no problem, I was usually towards the back of the line with boys about my height, half my weight, and twice my talent. (Baseball talent. Not sunflower seed eating talent. I’m unparalleled there.) Second step was a little more simple. You had to take a team picture. Luckily I never had to sit Indian style in the front of the picture, but I always felt bad for the kids that did. The baseball picture Indian style sitting is different than your everyday Indian style sitting. Your knees had to be brought up to at least your ears so it looked like you were some type of human rhombus in a Cleveland Indians uniform.

By the way, I think Indian Style is still politically correct. If not, I apologize. However, if you are offended by it, you shouldn’t be. I sit that way all the time. It’s very, very comfortable.

The third and final step was to take your individual picture. You had to stand in front of an artificial background which was meant to look like you standing in front of a stadium full of people (represented by blue, red and yellow circles….very realistic if you are playing at Crayola Park). The photographer, who undoubtedly had never seen a baseball in his entire life, then handed you the heaviest baseball bat ever created and asked you to smile. So you did. And out came some of the most embarrassing pictures of my childhood.

So now you have reached opening day. Here in Chicago it was usually the last weekend of April which meant the game was either snowed out or postponed due to the cold weather. (Side note: I was always happy when games were postponed due to cold weather. I didn’t own batting gloves, and God forbid I make contact with a pitch, that would sting for days). Despite the games not going on that day, do you know what was never ever cancelled? If you answered the opening day parade you are correct!!

Mothers would line the streets and tell their “babies” how handsome they looked in their $8 Tigers jersey and ill-fitting grey baseball pants. Fathers would be standing next to them drinking “coffee” from their thermos and telling the other fathers how they would be a much better coach than “this guy” but they just don’t have the time.

As for us players (yes, I know I’m using the term loosely, but we paid the entrance fee), we had to walk around waving at people we didn’t know. Why? I haven’t got the slightest idea. No clue whatsoever. A parade is traditionally filled with people who want to be there, not 200 9-16 year olds who are upset that you’ve woken them up prior to 8am for a baseball parade on a Saturday when their damn game has been cancelled.

The little league baseball season was too fast. We played 15 games, and then everyone made the playoffs. Then, summer was over. Wait. What? The season ended before the fourth of July? What the hell was that all about? We couldn’t have played more than 15 games and played until August? Very stupid.

Everyone played little league at some point, and I think we are glad that we did. I miss it as a 25 year old man. I liked the excitement, the competition, the new friends made, and that one coach who kept inviting me over to his house for sleepovers. I declined, but in a totally unrelated note, these days he is not allowed to open the door on Halloween.