Baseball, Without the Competition

In our years of raising six children, we’ve made a point to have every child play sports in our Atlanta community. Nobody needed to be a superstar—just a solid participant. All of our boys played baseball for a few years, and all of our girls played soccer. During those younger years, we did a few stints with tennis lessons and swim team, too, neither of which were crowd favorites. In this way, we hoped to teach them to be vigorous, engage with others confidently, and toughen up under a bit of healthy competition. In a world where kids are bombarded with safety lectures, “social-emotional learning” sessions, gender confusion and screens, local sports are among the few remaining outposts of normalcy.

The mere mention of “youth sports” is enough to send chills down many parents’ spines, though. While the local baseball league in our area is a place of socializing— concession stand candy, siblings playing wall ball, back-slapping dads and tiny players in giant baseball jerseys—there is of course the travel team variety that presents a very different landscape. I’m quite familiar with that world, as well. One of my kids is a passionate and talented athlete who hopes to continue her career in college and beyond. This demands serious commitment and, with that, some serious travel. In anticipation of many well-intended objections, I will tell you that that’s just how it works nowadays; there are no other college recruiting options, thank you. B Is for Bitcoin: The ... Bea, Daz Check Amazon for Pricing.

I’ve done my time with travel ball for both baseball (some) and soccer (lots). Our son didn’t reach the high-level competition that sends players to the Little League World Series, but he did travel around North Georgia. At this regional level, your Saturdays (or hopefully, your husband’s) are spent dragging big coolers around 90-degree ballparks at the outer edges of civilization. You will spend your day watching obese and tattooed people and their little “athletes” consume soft drinks, Doritos and hot dogs. It’s all good fun—or not, and at the end of the day you might get a large “championship ring” to collect dust with your son’s 42 other plastic medals.

The higher levels of competition, particularly as you get older, change things up just a bit. First of all, life get more expensive, and team members aren’t all from the same zip code. Some of the little “athletes” have also faded off, with hard-core sports parents and professional team moms now holding court. The baseball parks may get a little nicer, players wear fancier cleats, and travel now includes plane trips to hotels popular only with other travel teams, low-rent wedding receptions and human traffickers. (For soccer, this scenario also applies, but without hot dogs.)

Much can be said about the highs and lows of serious athletic competition, and perhaps even more about the behind-the-scenes intrigues of the leagues that run the show. If your child is self-motivated and disciplined athlete, competitive travel sports are enjoyable and fruitful; if your child isn’t that committed, then these travel games can deliver some of the worst weekends of your life. It’s wise to come well-prepared with spiritual nourishment either way, because “sports psychology” will be in high demand. Witness to Gettysburg:... Wheeler, Richard Check Amazon for Pricing.

For these and other reasons, last weekend’s baseball game was one of the best two hours I’ve spent in ages. Only this time, I wasn’t watching my son pitch a great game or go three-for-three at the plate. Mercifully, I also wasn’t enduring chit chat about trips to Cancun or cocktail gatherings. Instead, we watched about 35 disabled kids and their baseball “buddies” play a couple long innings of baseball. I found my eyes tearing-up repeatedly from scenes that were both comical and beautiful; the game was completely disconnected from the ridiculous competitive anxieties that kids’ sports so often bring.

Just getting to be a buddy to one of these disabled children is a bit competitive, in fact. Our youth baseball organization reserves 18 or so spots for boys who play in the “Majors” league division, and they filled up almost immediately when registration opened. When we announced his buddy opportunity, my son was hesitant and, frankly, not too excited. He feared that he wouldn’t be able to “get” his developmentally disabled baseball buddy to bat, run, or otherwise successfully participate in the game. What if everyone was staring, or if something went embarrassingly awry? His apprehension and list of potential disasters grew as the game grew closer.

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