A Baseball Mom

I've heard it said that if left up to moms, baseball would die. The statement seemed plausible a few weeks ago, but no longer. A tournament weekend full of valleys and implausible peaks converted me to a tender new love of the sport. Between our two boys we had seven games, in hot dry weather that gave kids bloody noses and sunburns. Daniel's team fought hard but lost two games and exited their double-elimination tournament, while William's team won one and lost one on Saturday, which sent them to the loser's bracket on Sunday - games at 11:00, 1;00 AND 5:00 if they kept winning. The heat reached 95 degrees, the team was down three boys and had one injured kiddo who could not, would not leave the game and strand them with eight players.Families gathered in the shade with coolers of gatorade and ice cream bars and prepared to wait it out.

Our baseball team has been together four years, and our coaches and families are committed and passionate while trying to keep wins and umpire calls in perspective. The three boys who were absent sent extended family at the game to spectate and cheer along with us, yelling phrases like "that's a good cut, Tom," or "good eye, Jack" when a batter swung and missed, or held off and watched a ball sail by.  Normally baseball is too slow for me, an excuse to chat with friends and zone out in the heat of the afternoon rather than be drawn into the game. But this weekend the action seemed fast and furious, the first game close, the second game a blowout in our favor, and the third game an intensely even affair that came down to the wire before our side struck out a final batter and erupted in cheers of joy and disbelief.

Sometimes baseball cuts cruelly, the spotlight falling on a struggling pitcher, a batter who strikes out at the crucial junctures or a fielder who gets a bad bounce and fails to stop a line drive. The boys breathe deep to get the butterflies out before they are pinned by the excited gazes of fifty spectators, and nervous parents pace behind the dugout while their kids pitch, bat, or lunge for the ball. Some games, like the one-run loss on Saturday night, stick in our craw, and remind us to teach our sons that we cannot control life, only our efforts, But some games reward players and fans alike, with three-up, three-down innings by our pitchers, home runs off our bats, safe slides across home, and jubilation at the final out. What hooked me was the huge grin on my son's face as he entered the dugout after a home run, yelling "did you see that, Mom?" and his exuberant leap into the arms of a coach after he pitched a great inning.

We're back to the tournament on Saturday, with a brave bunch of boys and a renewed zeal for the game. The families will be out in force, our numbers back to the full team, and the weatherman promises a hot day. Nothing better on a summer afternoon.