Between the Lines: A Father, A Son, and America's Pastime

We both thought we were going to be on the Courier…Bob’s team. Somehow, Devin and I ended up on Firefighters. That’s kind of a bummer because Bob’s coach is a real nice guy and our coach is really old and shaky and kind of scary. But today we’re wearing our real uniforms, so for now everything is great.

Official Little League cleats are really cool. They kind of look like tennis shoes but they’re black and have rubber cleats on the bottom of them. You can only wear them to games and you can’t walk on concrete with them, because that will wear the cleats down. You can’t wear them in the house because they make black marks on the kitchen floor, and they usually have a wad of gum with grass sticking to it wedged between the cleats. Only big guys like Bob, Mike and Mark wear them. But now I have them, so I must be a big guy…but I sure don’t feel like it.

I’m nine and playing in a league in which the biggest guys are 12. We have to practice with them, and we might even play in a real game against them. The coaches put us little guys in during the last inning for someone who just batted. That way we probably won’t have to bat. But if we get a lot of hits and bat around, then there’s no choice.

The real season has arrived. Opening day! Devin and me are walking out to get our pictures taken. I look down at my new cleats that don’t even have bubble gum stuck to the bottom yet. Devin says, “Man, we’re gonna be on this team for four whole years.”

Four years! I don’t even know how long four years is, but it sounds like forever. Right now, I’m just happy I don’t have gum on my shoes yet, that I have real uniform, and that my buddy Devin is on Firefighters too…for four years. Man, that’s forever.