Andy the Baseball Player!

I was in softball when I was a kid.  It didn't go well.  I am sure this memory isn't accurate- at least I hope this memory isn't accurate- but when the coach (ie, unqualified parent volunteer) handed out awards at the end of the season (six random weeks), I strongly recall my award saying "Nice Try."  Like, at least you showed up.  Congratulations for not being late to the games.  You suck, though. Seriously.  Don't darken this field with your clumsy hands again.

There's some mumbling about Chris having played baseball as a kid.  I think he may have hated it.  Or loved it but wasn't good.  Or was really good but got atomic wedgies while waiting for his at bat.  Something about his baseball career wasn't illustrious, I just can't remember what.  But baseball (or softball), it's just one of those rites of passage in the childhood tunnel to early adulthood.  It's between getting told there are starving children in Africa and going on a ferris wheel.

Andy is almost done with his first season (eight random weeks) of baseball.  The whole thing is quite adorable.  There are three innings.  Every child bats and runs to first base, and nobody wins or loses. The coach throws about five pitches and then they bring out a tee if needed. They play on a miniature field and get to be on teams with a color in its name.  Blue Lake Monsters! Tan Tigers!  Red Knee Scabs!  Green With Envy!  You know, that sort of thing.  I have to bring up the color because so much of our first week was wondering if we'd received the right color uniform on pick-up day.  In fact, much of my own parental stress has been related to the uniform.  Andy kept losing his hat.  I wondered aloud why so many kids were wearing their uniforms to practice.  And then when Andy wore his uniform to practice and nobody else did, I wondered the reverse aloud.  I had to google what "cleats" were.  And I asked Chris, "Do you think he needs a... cup?"  I asked this while making a cupping motion with my right hand, classy-like.

While I've been obsessed with uniform issues, Andy's mostly concerned about the food aspect. Being introduced to Gatorade has changed his life.  Alex's too, really.  They are obsessed with it, with the colors that are available and just how damn delicious it is.  I personally didn't realize Gatorade was a "sports" drink, I always thought it was just a "stomach flu" drink.  Again, back to the Nice Try world of sporting activity.  I overhear Andy on the bench discussing what color/flavor of Gatorade everyone has today.  I nervously watch Alex, who hangs around nearby (not in cleats, a uniform, or any kind of cup) as he glugs his weight in red liquid.  It's a big thing, this Gatorade stuff.  But then, at the end of the game- there's a SNACK.  It's not nutritious.  In fact, one day it was Laffy Taffy. LAFFY TAFFY! As a snack!  After a sport!  Who are these slacking mothers?  When it was my turn to bring snack, I brought protein bars and orange slices!  Oh wait, no I didn't.  It was cookies.  I gave in, I got cookies.

The best thing about snack is Alex, who is not on the team but has the uncanny ability to hear a parent crinkling open a bag of snacks from about thirty yards away.  Alex comes running as fast as he can at the first notion of snack, sneaking his way into line and getting himself a free, undeserved snack every single time.  I would make more of an effort to stop him if I didn't already feel bad for him.  Andy gets to be in baseball.  Alex gets to just stand around.  

So how is Andy at baseball?  Well, I'll be honest.  I think he might be up for the Nice Try award.  The problem is that his little heart just doesn't seem to be in it.  He always looks on the brink of tears when he's up to bat.  I think the pressure might be getting to him, even though the pressure is zero to none.  He is much better out in the field, where he will dash clear across the field to try and catch the ball, all but tackling the other children for the chance just to touch it.  So, he's a hustler.  Chris and I ask him to practice batting at home, but his interests lie elsewhere.  As in, anywhere but there.  One day I gave him the choice between practicing batting for ten minutes or doing fifteen minutes of math.  Cut to the next scene, where he's hunched over two pages of subtraction problems.  He does not like to practice ball.  Part of him (perhaps most of him) has already written this whole thing off.

But I haven't.  I think we should stay the course.  He should proudly see it through this season and hopefully sign up next season, when cups might actually be required.  I make this commitment even though the league made us buy candy bars and sell them, which infuriated me beyond belief.  I do not like the thought of my children being little salesmen.  I don't like duping friends and family for cash. This is why we just paid for the bars and then spent the month of May slowly eating them all. Chris gained ten pounds.  I still look fabulous.

Play ball, Andy.  Play ball, and have fun. Put a smile on your face. And, yes, I will get some yellow Gatorade tomorrow before the game.