Youth Sports Teams

Last Saturday morning, at about 10:30AM, we returned home from an active morning. I found myself filled with a deep sense of well-being. Imagine the scene. A happy, healthy family exiting their mini-van, entering their lovely house, being greeted by their sweet dog, sauntering into their sun-filled living room (it was actually very cloudy, but I'm trying to set the mood, here), preparing for the other exciting activities that awaited them that day. Idyllic, no? Any one of those realities, by itself, could fill a man with a 'deep sense of well-being.' Yet my satisfaction came from another, equally powerful source. We had just returned from my older son's coach-pitch baseball game. And let me tell you- it was a resounding success. And when I say 'resounding success' in reference to a game that one of my boys has been in, I mean that my boys performed well, very well. What made my joy doubly sweet was the fact that (to make up for the lack of players) my 5 younger, 5 YEAR-OLD PRE-K'er, played, as well. For those of you not in the know, and believe me I pity you, coach pitch is for 1st graders and 2nd graders. T-Ball is the intended forum of the pre-K and kindergardener. But there was my younger son on the field with the big boys (and with a perfect defensive stance, to boot).
The game began slowly. My older boy came up to bat in the bottom of the first (he was hitting CLEAN-UP- oh the joy!) with a man (six year-old) on second. My son hit the ball squarely, but the suspiciously large 3rd baseman caught the ball. After the inning, the father who had been acting as third-base coach remarked on how talkative the third-baseman was. "He told me his whole life story: what foods he likes, his favorite color, that he's been playing baseball for four years." Four years! I thought and began mentally composing my letter of protest to the head of the league (if, indeed, there is a head of the league).
In the top of the second, trouble struck (in the form of the loquacious/cheater third-baseman. He hit a double. On the next play, my older son (who plays short-stop) cleanly fielded a sharply hit grounder and ran to third to force out the runner who was approaching from second. The problem here was that to get a runner out going from second to third, my son needed to tag the runner, not step on the base. It's a confusing rule (my wife was totally befuddled) and an understandable mistake by my son. Still, the next bater drove the runner in with a single to the pitcher's mound. As we entered the bottom of the second inning, our team was losing 1-0. To start out the inning, my younger son came up to bat. As a proud father, I need to remind my readers that this boy is two years removed from being eligible to play in coach-pitch. Not surprisingly, he struck out (but he took some excellent cuts at the ball). The girl after him got a single. "Keep your helmet on," one of the coaches shouted to my younger son, "we need you to run for ____" [the girl who had just singled]. So, my younger son jogged onto first base. My pulse was starting to pound; at the same time, I'm trying to remind myself to be a grown-up; it doesn't matter who wins or loses; it's all about every child doing his or her best; BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. The next batter up singled. My youngest son bravely, and wisely, advanced from first base to third base. Like a mother cheetah watching her cub chase down a gazelle, I watched with pride from our team's bench, admiring my son's graceful/cheetah-like gait (cheetah-like or 5 year-old-like- they're really very similar). The next single brought my son home with the tying run. That single was followed by a double. Men (kids) on second and third. One out. The next batter up strikes out. Up stepped my older son to the plate. Tied game, 1-1. Two outs. DO YOU FEEL THE TENSION? He fouled the first pitch back. His swing was a thing of beauty, but no results. The next pitch. A swing and a miss. Two outs, two strikes, two runners in scoring position. If my boy is to live up to his spot in the batting order, he has got to produce (the clean-up hitter is relied on to get key hits and drive in runs). The next pitch and, pow, the sweet sound of ball on bat. My son hit a laser shot into center field. Running with great intensity, he doubled, driving in both runs. The crowd goes wild (the fictional crowd in my head, anyway. In reality, we have very little fan support- four coaches, two dads, my wife and another mom). The score was now 3-1. One of my boys had scored the tying run and my other boy had a double and two RBIs . Who says that the world isn't a just place? Another single drove in my older boy from second. The next player struck out and burst into tears. I had to admire the intensity, but felt bad for the boy (who sobbed, unabated, and his father who was appropriately if unsuccessfully soothing with a "you'll get 'em next time, slugger" sort speech that was falling on definitely deaf ears.
So, into the third inning we went. Our team's lead 4-1. Coach-pitch games only last three innings. So this was it. We needed to protect our lead with solid defense. Provided by? What can I say? It was a good day, a good life, a just world, but I digress. With two outs and a man (girl) on first and third (it was a boy on third), a ball was sharply hit toward my older son at short. He fielded the ball cleanly, stepped on second (which, because the girl had to run from first, would have been enough for the out) and then proceeded to tag the girl out, too. He made the final out of the game (and did this with great relish, seeming to stare down his adversary (in this case, a slightly chubby, eight year-old girl) after tagging her.
Ah, the elation of sport (of victory, really, but I'm trying to be poetic). The father of the first baseman on my son's team and I had discussed youth sports earlier in the week. We commented on the overriding opinion that youth sports should be concerned primarily with instructing kids and letting them have fun. "Yeah," he said, "but there's nothing wrong with winning and having fun, too." Amen, brother.