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

“Daddy, can we go to Ben’s game?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”

Ben’s a freshman in high school, but he gets to dress out on the varsity team for the sectionals. A tornado blew his other house away. So now he lives across the street from us. He’s tall and has three brothers: Nick, Sam and Fred. They play baseball too. Sam thinks it’s very cool.
We take our seats on the metal bleachers. “What are they doing?”
“Well, Sam, they’re taking infield and getting warmed up.”
“Is that big guy with the bat on Ben’s team?”
“No, he’s the coach.”
“Can I have a hot dog?”
“Sure.”
The lady in front of us turns around, looks at Sam, and smiles.

“Daddy, what did he do?”
“Well, that’s called a bunt.”
“It didn’t go very far.”
“No, it’s not supposed to. It’s called a ‘sacrifice.’ See, the guy from second got to third while they were throwing the batter out.”
“Does Albert Pujols do that?”
“Not much.”
“I’m not going to, either. Can I get a Gatorade?”
“Sure.”
“And some candy?”
“……Okay.”
The lady turns around again, this time chuckling lightly.

“Daddy, what happens if Ben’s team wins?”
“They play in the regionals next week.”
“Then what?”
“Well, if they win that, they go to semi-state. If they win there, they play in the state finals.”
“Can me and you go to all those games?”
“Well, we’ll see.”
“Can I go play with Nick and Sam and Fred?”
“Yes, but check back with me a few times, okay?”
“Okay.”
This time the lady looks back and, still smiling, just sort of shakes her head.

“Sam, let go of my shoe. What are you doing down there?”
“I can’t get up there; it’s too crowded.”
“Okay, climb up.”
“Daddy, I have to poop.”
“Oh, Sam, can’t you wait until we get home?”
“No, I have to go real bad.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
The lady in front of us tries to hide her laughter, but I can see her shoulders bouncing.

“Did you see that? It was a home run double,” Sam says.
“It’s called a ground rule double.”
“What’s that?”
“When the ball bounces over the fence, the batter gets an automatic double. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Where’s Nick and Sam and Fred?”
“They’re still playing.”
“Are you going to go play with them?”
“No, I’m gonna sit with you for a while.”
Another smile from the lady in front of us.

“So what happens if Ben’s team loses?”
“Then it’s all over.”
“Forever?”
“Until next year.”
“Then what?”
“Well, after next year, he’ll have two more years in high school.”
“Then what?”
“If he’s good enough, he can play in college.”
“Then what?”
“If he’s really good, he’ll play pro. Or maybe some day he’ll have kids and he can be their coach.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna play baseball in high school.”
“Are you going to play pro baseball?”
“Well, maybe. Or I might be a coach like you.”
The lady in front of us turns all the way around. “Enjoy these times; they’re special,” she says.
I smile. “Yes, they are. So do you have a son playing?”
“Oh, no, my grandson is on the team. My son is the coach.”

Sam tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy, what did that grandma say?”
“Well, mostly she said baseball is special.”