It’s been at least 15 years since I’ve visited a Little League ballpark and yelled “batter, batter, batter swing.”
When our boys hung up their baseball mitts for the last time, I thought those days were over, but I got a chance to sit in a Little League ballpark this week. The game brought back wonderful memories of watching kids play the all-American sport.
Baseball’s been in my family for as long as I can remember. My uncles loved their baseball trading cards, and they’d play wiffle ball in the side yard every Sunday afternoon.
Nieces and nephews joined in and learned early how to hold a bat, run to first and how to round second base.
Our eldest son loved playing baseball, and we started with T-ball at the T.W. Davis YMCA in Richmond. The younger boys would jump around on the playground while their elder brother learned how to bunt, steal a base and catch an infield fly.
His younger brother loved baseball as well, and the parent friends we made on that team remain friends to this day.
Our youngest son enjoyed the guitar more. He was a good sport and seldom complained about heading to the ballpark to watch his brothers play.
There were times I resented packing up the lawn chairs, snacks and gear and driving to the park. I imagined myself sitting home and relaxing instead of sitting outside on either a hot, sticky night or a cold, drag-the-blanket-with-me night.
Years later, I got to sit home, but I realized how much I missed the game when I went to watch my neighbor play ball at George Park in Richmond this week.
The last time I went to George Park, there were a few soccer and softball fields and about four baseball diamonds. Today, there’s fields everywhere, from beginning T-ball teams to parent-pitch to pre-teen teams.
The old wooden bleachers are now actual seats, and the lights shine just like at a high school field. The umps have matching shirts, and sponsor signs line the fence with some of the same businesses when our boys played.
Our neighbor Kyle’s team is the Astros, and those kids were ready to play. One young girl on the opposing team was the catcher, and she didn’t miss a throw. I cheered when she got on base, sliding like a champ into that bag.
Some of the kids struck out, and the coaches talked to them as they came back to the dugout, usually with their arm over the kid’s shoulders, and it was obvious fall baseball is one of learning more than winning.
And just like when my boys were up to bat, when Kyle stepped into the batter’s box, I held my breath.
When a ball came his way, I crossed my fingers as he ran as fast as he could to the fence and threw the ball to the cut-off man in time to make the play.
The sigh of relief I felt so many times came right back as if I’d never left the ballpark.
Some things have changed – there’s electronic scoring instead of a paper book, the bats are all high-end metal sluggers and people in the stands were wearing masks.
What’s the same is the enthusiasm the kids and parents have for one of America’s favorite games. Young girls and boys were learning the value of being on a team where sportsmanship counts and it’s possible to win and lose gracefully.
There’s nothing like baseball.
Kyle’s got a game Friday night.
I wouldn’t miss it for anything.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.