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GenePool
Humor
Play Ball
It's been quite a while since I updated everyone on the athletic status of my children (see "Spring Training") and I think it's high time I got back to it again, considering the new season has begun.
Last year's baseball ended on something of a high note, especially considering how terribly it began. Tim eventually got over his fear of getting hit by a pitch, although not without some problems. Last season, after getting nailed by a pitcher from the Rockies in a preseason scrimmage, he refused to play in the first game, due in no small part to the fact that the game was also against the Rockies. When I finally convinced him to get up at the plate (I had to; his team, the Orioles, only had nine players available at the time) he got hit with the first pitch. Of course. So the next time he had to bat, he really really didn't want to get up there, and, well, this time he had a good reason not to want to. The coach begged him, the team pleaded with him, a girl on the team offered him five dollars if he got up to the plate, and still, he wouldn't budge from the dugout. Finally, I promised to buy him a video game he wanted if he batted. (Look, my manhood was at stake here.) So he went up to the plate. The first pitch sailed right at him yet again (left-handed batters tend to get hit a lot in little league) and a miracle happened. Tim stepped out of the way of the pitch and madly swung at the ball, entirely in self-defense-- and got a base hit.
Things were better for Tim after that, although the season was still full of a lot of pleading on my part and a lot of strange physical maladies on Tim's part (baseball apparently gives Tim some sort of disease that lands somewhere between arthritis and leprosy, making it impossible for him to stand in the outfield without feeling random pain somewhere.) Becky had no such problems, other than the bat being permanently affixed to her shoulder for the better part of the year. It wasn't until the last regular season game that her coach managed ot convince her to actually swing at something, and when she did she connected on a deep fly ball that, while only netting her a single, went a lot farther than anybody expected it to go. Tim's high point at the plate came during the playoffs, when he came up against the Cubs with the bases loaded, and BUNTED, stunning everybody, including the other team's catcher. It was the winning RBI.
To the shock and amazement of all concerned, Tim's Orioles beat Becky's Red Sox in a playoff game to earn the right to face the Rockies in a three-game playoff for bragging rights to second place. (The regular season victor goes on to the Mayor's Cup, an intradivisional playoff.) More shocking and amazing, the Orioles won. Tim got a trophy for his efforts, which was all he needed to be convinced to play again this year.
Something interesting happened to both Becky and Tim this winter. I'm guessing, looking at the average height and weight of other children their age, that most kids eventually plateau on their respective growth charts. This did not happen to my kids. Becky is now five feet tall and doesn't turn eleven for another two months. Tim is seventeen months younger and only four inches shorter. They will both grow another inch by the time I have finished writing this column.
I had been unable to attend all of their practices this year, but what I heard was pretty good. Becky was reportedly hitting the ball all over the place. Her coach, Don, joked that he was batting her fourth this season. I did see one of Tim's practices. He turned on one pitch and hit it to the right field fence on a bounce-- about 130 feet. We were all amazed. I eagerly anticipated the start of the season, when I could finally just sit back and enjoy a ball game without having to spend much of my time behind the dugout, coaxing one child to keep playing and another child to swing the bat.
As soon as the games began, the temperature dropped precipitously for no apparent reason, except maybe the earthquake. There was an earthquake on the east coast the weekend before the games began, and I heard someone advance the theory that it had effected the weather. I don't know how this is possible, except that both provide evidence that God doesn't like us very much, and this strikes me as a somewhat unscientific explanation. Anyway, it was so cold that the Orioles-Red Sox game (Becky is on the Sox) was cancelled. So I missed a chance to see the kids face off against each other to start the year. The game was rescheduled for the weekend.
Tim's Orioles started the following night, against the Rockies yet again. Two things were immediately clear. One, the Rockies' coach was pretty pissed about losing last year, because at least three of the kids on his team are already shaving. Second, it was even colder than the night before. I honestly don't know how they managed to play in these conditions. I had on two more layers than any of the players, and I was freezing. Tim, to his credit, managed to stick around for the whole game, even though he itched madly. (Tim has somehow come down with hives. I've got him on Benadryl, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he hasn't figured out a way to beg out of games by actually convincing his body to come down with a real physiological problem. Swear to God I wouldn't put it past him.) This was probably the most humbling season opener of any little league team, anywhere, in modern history. The Orioles lost 20-0 and failed to record a base hit. The only reason the score wasn't worse was that Henry-- the coach-- conceded in the fifth inning, at sunset. Tim managed to get on base once by getting hit in the butt by a pitch. He took it well. Then again, he has hives down there, so it probably felt good.
Becky's Red Sox fared much better two nights later, when it was even colder. Wind chill that evening brought the temperatures to just above freezing. It's a good thing they use aluminum bats, because all of the parents were looking for kindling by the third inning. Becky succeeded in not swinging for the entire night. She did make a decent defensive play late in the game, when her coach put her at first base. ("I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY FIRST!!!!!" she screamed at me from the field.) With a runner on second, she fielded a grounder and stepped on first, getting the force out. Sure, she threw the ball away after that (she went to third with it, giving the already-arrived runner a chance to head home) but we're going to pretend that didn't happen. Ultimately, the Red Sox lost 8-5 to the White Sox in four, the game having been called due to severe frostbite.
So the record going into Saturday, the day of the make-up game, was Red Sox 0-1, Orioles 0-1, Arctic Weather Conditions 2-0. The coaches wisely scheduled the game time for 1:00 P.M., and Arctic Weather Conditions elected to not even show up.
Being a father for children on opposing teams can be kind of weird. For one thing, parents will routinely come up to me and chat, and I can never remember if they are a Red Sox parent or an Oriole parent. This gets dicey when they ask "how we're doing." I used to try and determine their allegiances before responding, but that turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. Now I just rattle off the score in as neutral a voice as possible and see how they react. Plus, you know how it's the job of parents to shout random encouraging things to random children that may or may not belong to them, but are on the same team? I can go from "way to pitch that ball!" to "nice cut" to "good hit" to "nice play" to "way to run it out!" all in the same half inning. Sometimes on the same play. I've gotten into arguments with myself over a called strike. Fortunately, I've yet to come to blows.
As for the performances of the battling Doucettes, things were looking up. Tim got a solid base hit, which he loved, because from first base he was near enough to shout "you stink!" at his sister, the right fielder. Becky, for her part, managed to take her bat off her shoulder ("just swing the damn bat" was my gentle paternal advice) long enough to punch a base hit through the infield, collect her first RBI, and later, score her first run. And neither of them demanded to go home early.
All in all, it was a banner day, marred only
slightly by the fact that somebody had to lose: the Orioles beat
the Red Sox 12-6.
© 2002, Gene Doucette
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