Little League is Big League to Me

Squibs and Blurbs

by Jerry Zimmerman

TEANECK New Jersey—(Weekly Hubris)—9/19/11—Granted, I am a known crybaby, particularly when it comes to kids, but here I am, sitting on my couch with tears slowly running down my face as the last out is made in the 2011 Little League World Series.

I can’t stand to watch Major League Baseball, even finding the grown-up version of the World Series to be unbearably dull, yet I watch the Little League World Series every year. This series has tons of games, including whole brackets of teams from around the world, all playing each other over a number of weeks at the end of each summer. I used to think that I just happened to see it each year, but this year I realized that I find it tantalizingly addictive and that, once I see promos for it, I always make time to see some games. Well, a LOT of games.

Although the kids playing in Little League get progressively more skilled and savvy through the years, they are still, thank God, kids, and they are kids who just love to play this game. And it is a great game when it is played with joy and played for fun.

Don’t get me wrong. At this level of competition, the players are as good as nine-to-twelve-year-olds get. They understand the game and its nuances, they have excellent skills, and they play with concentration and verve–and they play to win. The game of baseball is shown in all its glory; it is athletic, focused, thoughtful, nerve-wracking, strategic, unpredictable and fully human. As it is played by this level of athlete, it is fast and exciting.

The Series is a wonderful amalgam of fierce drive and high athleticism mixed with goofy fun and tender relationships. Watching a frustrated and deeply disappointed ten-year-old come off the mound, only to be met by his coach’s quiet words of genuine appreciation for his effort, is a moving moment of true kindness and mentoring. Seeing a home run go over the center field wall, with all the concomitant cheering and bravado of the winning team, is put into its rightful perspective by the hill behind center field filled with young kids sliding down the muddy slopes on pieces of cardboard, oblivious to the winning run, more excited by their exquisitely dirty sled rides than the exploits of the teams.

The TV coverage is fully engaged. Besides game coverage, there is plenty shown of the event in all its glory.  The players in their uniforms, having a break in practice, line up for trays and trays of cupcakes–looking at those endless rows of cake, their smiles are just as wide as if they had just thrown a perfect game. The fans are ridiculous, whole families with signs and painted faces, yelling and beaming, radiating the kind of encouragement only families can bestow on their own kids. The desire to win is strong but the usual companion of such intense competition, rancor, is completely absent.

Watching the games, it is the quicksilver quality of being and becoming that I find so remarkable and so enjoyable to observe. Anything can happen on the field, from an impossibly beautiful miracle catch to the silliest error of a throw. It is as if you are watching highly skilled athletes overlaid with kids playing on a back lot, with all the excitement of the former and all the love of the latter.

A great example of this was a complete surprise to me. After a home run, in the Majors and in Little League, and probably everywhere that anyone plays baseball, the whole team usually comes out to home plate to greet their teammate who has hit it. The batter gets celebratory whacks on the back and handshakes and everyone runs back to the dugout. As I watched one particular Little Leaguer smash one out of the park, he rounded the bases and headed for home, where his teammates had made a circle for him to enter. As soon as his foot hit the plate for his home run, every other player fell to the ground in unison. It was fabulous! This wasn’t just a celebration, it was downright FUN! I love these kids.

In trying to tease out for myself why I am so enamored of these mini-superstars of baseball, I have begun to understand that it is the quality of who these boys ARE that so impresses. Deep within the players, coaches, fans, and even the announcers, one gets the sense of real goodness, the basic kindness that fuels the training; the true companionship that infuses the competition. How one acts truly mirrors the soul, and the actions of those involved in this delicious event show humanity at a very high level.

The final game of the Little League World Series was won by California, defeating a team from Japan. It was an exciting game, and I was slightly rooting for the US team, even though I have strong ties to Japan. When that final out was made and the game was won, I was happy for a moment for the California kids and sad for a moment for the Japanese kids. But the tears that rolled from my lachrymose eyes were due to joy, the joy of watching evolved kids living rare moments of purpose and true friendship.

As the TV telecast wound down to the last minutes, the final scene was of the California team getting all set for a group portrait with their winning banner. While watching their excited and happy faces, I had the distinct vision that, once finished, they would invite the Japanese boys over for one more picture of remembrance, this time with both teams in the photo. I was so wishing to see this happen, that I was shocked when the broadcast was over and I realized that it didn’t happen and probably wouldn’t happen.

I’m still hoping that after the cameras stopped rolling, the winners wouldn’t be able to resist calling over the other team to share this one last wondrous moment together.