Turns out there is crying in baseball
Quite a bit, in fact
Top of the 1st: My dad, a baseball obsessive, begins hassling me in January about how we should sign our kids up for baseball. I, a rule-following COVID type, do not appreciate his suggesting to us that we mix our kids up in a group situation, and also, I have other shit to do besides worry about sports.
Bottom of the 1st: Whenever I hear about other parents who kept their kids in indoor sports during COVID I feel a mixture of 👀 (over the risk), 👀 again (over these parents’ fealty to children’s sports) and jealousy (over their kids having something to do during COVID.
Top of the 2nd: I decide to sign the kids up after all because the risk of germ swapping seems minimal, especially since it’s outdoors, all the kids had to bring their own equipment, plus our closest parent friends whose boys are in our kids’ cohorts are enrolling theirs and they seem responsible.
Bottom of the 2nd: I decide not to tell my dad about it for a few days so as not to let him think I signed the boys up because of him (my mom’s suggestion 🧙♀️)
Top of the 3rd: The moment I tell him we signed the boys up Dad says we should practice throwing and catching. It’s our first day of spring break and we’re out of town in a rental house.
Bottom of the 3rd: While on spring break I start fretting about my older son possibly having a bad time in baseball. Unlike his younger 5-year-old brother he is not very competitive and doesn’t like sports when yelling is involved.
Top of the 4th: I am mad at myself for worrying about such a trifling thing when we are still in a pandemic and there are children getting shot to death in America.
Bottom of the 4th: I read this essay by Keith Gessen about dads and why they care if their sons don’t care about sports as much as they do.
Top of the 5th: I write his wife, Emily Gould, a word vomity email saying I appreciated the essay and how I was the boy in my family re: sports since my brother basically rejected team sports, and that I appreciate that my husband is not a big sporto so my boys will at least grow up seeing that there are various ways to be a boy.
I then read this Tweet that Emily had posted before I wrote her:
(I write to apologize and she says lol nbd.)
Bottom of the 5th: The boys and I start playing baseball in the yard and at the park. The kids are both pretty good and we have fun! I remember how much I like playing catch with them. Once last year I grabbed something as it fell off a table and someone complimented me on my reflexes and I credited it to playing catch with my family.
Top of the 6th: Hard baseballs are hard as shit. Like even a ground ball that takes a little hop will give you a good bruise on your shin.
Bottom of the 6th: My five year old starts tee ball. A lot of the kids on his team are still doing things like rolling around on the ground and picking up the rope baseline and playing with it.
Top of the 7th: The day before their first game the kindergarten tee ball kids are given uniforms and they’re so excited. “Are you guys ready for the big game?” their coach asks. My son’s little friend says to no one in particular, “I’m really excited for the big game!” “Me too! I’m also really excited for the big game!” my five-year-old says. 😭
7th inning stretch: my favorite clip ever from a MLB game:
Bottom of the 7th: I learn my 8 year old has to get an athletic cup as part of his gear. He is mortified by the mere prospect of it and doesn’t even want to talk about it. He wears it to one practice and my husband tells me he fiddled with it the entire time (even though I got one that is allegedly comfy.) He brings it home and it floats around the house in communal spaces until I put it in his underwear drawer and decide he’ll have to learn it’s time to wear it on his own.
Top of the 8th: I discover that at the 3rd grader’s games, the kids pitch from the mound. This means that approximately 3-5 runs are walked in per inning, several batters are hit by pitches, and there are very few actual hits/opportunities for fielding. The average temperature at the game is 55.
Bottom of the 8th: My dad wants to know why my 8 year old son is a little afraid of the ball when he bats. I say maybe it’s because of so many kids getting hit by pitches, which I find very understandable. I email his coach to ask what he says to do about this and he says “Getting hit by pitches at this level is just part of the game because of the skill level. In all my years of coaching, I have never had a player need medical treatment or even miss the next game because of getting hit. The pain, if there is any, is typically temporary.”
Top of the 9th: At a 3rd grader’s game, I befriend a mother who I’m relieved to learn is not HERE for baseball, just, you know, present. Later, I find her sad and concerned when her son cries after getting tagged out in a rundown. I complain about the games to an old friend of mine who loves baseball. He writes, “Your son’s teammate who cried after getting tagged out in the rundown is definitely *NOT* the oldest kid to cry at James Park. That would be Dan [redacted] and me at age 12 after losing the Little League Championship. I made the last out (tagged out at home, would’ve tied the game in extra innings).” I think about my college boyfriend who told me about how he cried when he loaded the bases and walked in the winning run in his Little League championship, my dad who recently admitted a similar story to me about his own Little League career, and wonder why we have little kids do this terribly sad sport.
Bottom of the 9th: My husband tells me about how aggro the other coach is at a game I’m not at. I email another mom who allegedly knows this coach to find out his name so I can track him down and see if he has an asshole face and possibly get him removed from all baseball for perpetuity. I see the mom the next day after I have cooled down and tell her I was just kidding.
Extra innings:
Top of the 10th: My kids are possibly exposed to COVID and I tell the coach. We eventually learn they were at zero-to-minimal risk but still don’t mind taking two games off per the comissioner’s rules. 🤷♀️
Bottom of the 10th: Saturday we go to batting cages for the first time. My husband and five-year-old start slamming the ball right away. My 8 year old hardly makes contact any of his five times in the cage and hangs his head, saying “I’m the only one who didn’t get a home run.” I begin to worry that baseball is ruined for him, that he won’t want to play again if he has no confidence.
Top of the 11th: On the way home I remember an interview I did for Evil Witches (coming up), wherein a mother says that she and her husband put their daughter in volleyball because it is a struggle for her and that she thinks it’s a valuable lesson for her daughter to have to work at something and maybe not be good at it for awhile and I realize my friend is very wise.
Bottom of the 11th: While I’m making muffins last night my 8 year old hands me this note:
And we do, while they bake.
End credits
I hope you enjoyed this subscriber-only issue of Evil Witches, a newsletter for people who happen to be mothers. Jenny Fink at Building Boys had a good issue on her newsletter about kids and sports if you are feeling this topic today. If you liked this issue, feel free to forward it along to another sports-ambivalent parent, and, if you want, encourage them to subscribe! If you have any questions, ideas, feedback or suggestions for other issues or conversation threads you can reply right to this email. You can follow us on Instagram here and talk to other witches on Twitter, too. If you like Evil Witches, please give us a shout sometime on social media!
One witchy thing
I loved this whole piece! And, my, your kiddo has nice penmanship.
We have really lovely springs in North Carolina, and I had a rough work day on Tuesday. My 9yo and I were on the way to his game, and I said "I know I have a bad attitude about baseball, but I want you to know that I like watching you play. I have met some nice people and I am happy to be away from my computer and sitting outside tonight. Also, I am proud of you." And I think we both felt less terrible about how much I am not a sports mom. Also, as I have firmly established myself as the baseball mom with the worst attitude, only the fun parents come to sit by me.