T-Ball and Little League

As a 7 or 10 year old, I don't remember having the option to compete in a variety of sports: Under-8 soccor, swim team, tennis - never entered my consciousness. I remember flag football (did not participate and don't remember wanting to), and, of course, baseball. As my parents were not at all athletically inclined, and often not inclined to push me into anything, I do wonder how I even ended up participating in T-Ball, but I did. In College Park at that time, you participated in the Princeton Little League, playing games at the nice fields behind Princeton Elementary.

My team: Control Specialists (a company that had something to do with traffic signals?) I remember two coaches: Mr. Riddle was the main coach, and his assistant was a much older fellow, Mr. Monk. Mr. Riddle was, I gathered, the (step?)father of one of my teammates, Jimmy Von Plinsky. I remember them both being nice fellows. Mr. Riddle was always encouraging and as far as I can recall, pretty enthusiastic. Mr. Monk was tall and lanky if memory serves, quiet, and soft spoken.

We had a pretty good team. The only other person on the team whose name I remember was Mike Hammond, a big-for-his-age kid, nice kid, and the recognized slugger on the team. I remember considering myself a pretty good hitter, but I figure I was at least in the middle of the pack somewhere.

The most I remember of the practices: being out on a not very tended, barren, elementary school ball field in the Florida heat with 10 or 11 not very motivated kids, looking at pine trees in the distance. I don't remember learning much, not that I didn't. But funny how you can't forget the canvas bag full of baseballs, bats, and helmets. Even though I've not played organized ball since Little League, the feel of a base ball scuffed with clay still feels like it belongs in my hand. I remember also starting to learn about the different bats: different weights, lengths, wood vs. aluminum. Another thing you never forget is the sound of a good hit. Oh, and how could I forget, going out and getting your first pair of cleats! Putting on cleats is like framing a picture - you are elevated above the norm, special.

But it doesn't end there - then there's the uniforms! In T-Ball, its just a t-shirt with a logo, and a cap. But when the whole team gets the same shirt and cap and you show up at your first game and see everyone with the same cap, you've got your cleats on, there's the other team with their same color shirts on - you become a team instantly.

I have distinct memories of approaching the teed-up ball, concentrating on getting a hit. You'd think it easy as pie, but it was pretty common to hit the rubber tee under the ball like it was a pinata, the ball just dropping to the ground like a lone piece of candy. Or you just missed everything - whiiiiiffffff! Now, if you haven't ever actually competed, you may not really understand this, but you don't just get a hit and then run to first base. No, when you get a hit, there is this incredible adrenaline rush - energy immediately pours into your arms and legs and you feel as close to a superhero as you will ever feel as you try to spirit yourself to first base. As you run, everything is in slow motion; you see where you hit the ball, you see the other player field the ball and look to first, you see them make the throw; you feel the horrible pull of gravity. When you know they've got you, its like trying to run away from something in a nightmare, you can only run in slow motion. I remember the feeling of running like a hungry bear was behind me, the too-big helmet rattling on my little head, sometimes just falling off completely. Making it to first base: priceless.

I vaguely remember scoring, but its interesting how that isn't something I remember generally. The old saying is true, I think: its not whether you win or loose, its how you played the game.