So no softball this summer? No crazy softball parents screaming and yelling and complaining about playing time, no softball gossip about this-or-that team who stole this-or-that player because of this-or-that coach, no must-be-completely-blind softball umpires, no softball concession stands that JUST ran out of ice and water and hotdogs, no softball Gatorade loaded with Red 40, no softball rain delays in teeny-tiny towns with nothing else to do, no softball quadruple headers in 100 degree heat, no softball hotels with three hundred fourteen year old girls racing up and down the hallways, no softball gate fees, no softball playgrounds strategically positioned so the parents who must entertain their small ones have no chance whatsoever of actually watching the game? No softball player annoyed that you missed her last at-bat because you were distracted by little brother?
Honestly, I wasn't too heartbroken over this.
And, if truth be told, I get a little cynical about youth sports in America. Which I realize is totally hypocritical because now I have not one but two children who are full-on participants in youth sports in America. But that's different because my kids are involved for the character building and discipline and work ethic and fun, not because I'm grooming my youngest for his shot at the Olympic games and a feature spot in a P&G commercial. (Although if you saw the strength of his trunk and the level of his energy you'd enroll him in gymnastics with visions of front-row seats at gold medal ceremonies, too. And also the gymnastics club has a parents-night-out once a month.)
Then last night Sam and I volunteered for Special Olympics KY regional softball tournament. And as I climbed the rickety ladder to the scorekeeper booth and as we stood for the crackly rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, with the athletes lined up on the field, and as the athletes cheered when they heard Sam announce their names in the line up I remembered what I love about this sport. None of these teams were vying for the World Series (although they were hoping to qualify for the state softball tournament) and none were maneuvering for softball scholarships and none of their parents were pacing the sidelines, screaming at their athlete/coach/umpire. Instead they were playing for the fun of hitting and running and catching and cheering.
There was B. who, every at bat, waited until he got a full-count before swinging and tattooing the ball to the center field fence. (And the umpire who gently admonished, "Swing if it's good" every time she got too close to a called third strike.) M. who pumped his arms and rallied the fans every time he walked onto the field. J. who smiled and waved at Sam every time she announced his name. (Also J. who ran to first then immediately zoomed right into the dugout every time he hit a foul ball, which was often.) M. who made several spectacular 1 - 3 putouts then jumped up and down in excitement, pigtails bobbing. D., in center, who ran faster than he could throw and so chased the runner for the putout at third. (I had never scored an 8 unassisted putout at third before. Ever.) J. who struck out but said, "That's OK. At least I can hit a home run if I want." B. who DID hit an inside the park home run and then picked up his bat and walked off the field as nonchalantly as if he was getting his mail. And L. who was a bit late because he'd had to walk from his job at Oxmoor but made it just in time for his at bat - a single that would've been a double except the lead runner was so busy watching his hit that she forgot to run. And the cheering and the encouragement and the atta-girls and atta-boys from the sidelines. And the huge congratulatory hugs and high-fives and excitement after the game from both the winners and the losers. Because they were all winners.
THAT'S what I missed about softball. And that's the power of sport. Congratulations to all the teams for a game well played.
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