For The Love Of Baseball

“Absolutely the best family reunion yet,” said Mike, as he gazed around the crowded park, tallying in his mind the number of families there and how many of their subsequent generations had showed up.

“Better turnout than last year,” said Paul, as he watched his nieces and nephews swing their bats at the pre-game batting practice and observed who showed the most promise for the challenges to come.

Competition was important to Paul and his brother, who played every game to win when they were young so each could garner the most attention from their sports-loving father. Despite the fact that they were grown men and had children of their own, neither their competitive nature nor their desire for sportsman camaraderie with their father had lessened over the years.

Enthusiasm for the game of baseball was paramount and they tried hard to pass it down to the next generation. Forewarned when they were young by overheard adult conversation, they learned not to disparage the game, to know the rules and to be at least able to carry on an intelligent conversation about it, especially if they weren’t star players on a team.

Grabbing a glove, Uncle Paul walked onto the field and blew his whistle.

“Hop to it, you guys, and pay attention because you know how important today’s game is. If you want to beat your cousins and have bragging rights for the entire year to come, you have to concentrate and play with all the gusto you’ve got.”

Jamming his hat on his head, he rallied the team with a pep talk and topped it off with the promise of all the ice cream they could eat if they won. Kinetic energy flowed from player to player, pumping them up and turning them into a cohesive team, confident in their determination to win and in their ability to do it.

“Let’s play ball,” said Paul, as he made eye contact with each child and gave them the signal to perform the team’s good luck dance by shouting Warriors, Warriors, Warriors, as they danced like little Indians on the warpath.

Managing the family reunion and coordinating the baseball teams for his father’s grandchildren and their friends was the highlight of Paul’s summer. No one could organize an event like he could and he was happy to see 99% of his family descend on the park like locust as they dragged in coolers, chairs, sun block, boomboxes and enough food to feed the entire state of Massachusetts.

“Out,” called the umpire, as he threw his fist and thumb back over his shoulder for the third time that inning, leaving the Warriors tied with the opposing team at the bottom of the eighth.

Papa sat in the stands and proudly watched the two teams on the field, knowing he created fierce competition in his grandchildren but also knowing it was good for their future success as adults to develop a tempered passion to win. Quit was a word that didn’t exist in his dictionary nor did he want it in his children’s or grandchildren’s.

“Run, run, run,” yelled Paul, swinging his hat in the air like a fly swatter chasing flies, as he urged the littlest Warrior to run to home plate and secure a victory for his team.

“Safe,” yelled the ump as the runner slid across the plate, barely beating out the ball thrown by the third baseman, and sending his team into a cheering frenzy.

The Warriors won the coveted Bragging Rights Trophy and after Papa presented it to them, the littlest Warrior proudly carried it around the bases as the whole team threw their caps in the air and accepted the accolades they so deserved from their parents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Unhappiness settled like dust over the other team as they watched the attention being showered on their opponents.

“Victory is sweet,” said Papa, “but good sportsmanship is even sweeter.”

“Warriors, who should we take to the ice cream store with us?” asked Paul as he cupped his hands like a megaphone in order to be heard over the din of the celebrating.

“Xboxers,” was the unanimous cry, shouted as the Warriors shook hands with the Xboxer players and rallied their spirits with talk of their favorite ice cream flavors, sundaes with whipped cream toppings and three-scoop banana splits.

“You all played an excellent game today,” said Papa, “and I want you to know how proud I am of each of you.”

Zaniness, silly and unrestrained like the kids themselves, erupted as they each gave Papa a hug and then ran across the field to the vans, begging Uncle Mike, Uncle Paul and Papa to hurry, the competition forgotten as their mouths drooled in preparation for the ice cold treat to come.