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Little (Skills) League

I live in Philadelphia, a city that is obsessed with sports since nothing else of significance has happened in it since 1776. And since its own professional teams are laughingly pathetic, the citizens are turning elsewhere to have their collective sports craze satisfied (at least until the lite beer that they're guzzling takes effect). This year, they've gotten so desperate that they are turning to Little League.

Apparently, Philadelphia's Little League baseball team, the Taney Dragons, was kicking *ss in the Little League World Series. Its 13-year-old pitcher, Mo'ne Davis, quickly became a household name in and around the area and has even been featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

Granted, like the rest of Philadelphia's sports teams, Davis and the Dragons (which sounds like an awesome punk band name) wound up losing their spot in the World Series, forcing Philadelphians to resume watching the Philadelphia Eagles and hoping that "this is the year." For some reason, the losing Dragons are still getting a parade through the city's downtown area.

Call me ignorant, but up until this year when news of this permeated every outlet in the city, including roadside emergency signs, I had no idea that there even WAS a Little League World Series. Of course, maybe this is because, in my own youth, the color-coordinated township kids that I shared a field with for several seasons were Little Leaguers in name only. Our baseball and soccer teams didn't even play outside of the tiny suburban township in which we all lived, let alone anywhere else in the world.

Like any parents who mean well but ultimately destroy their child's innocence and self-esteem indirectly, my parents signed me up for Little League sports. I wasn't really having success socializing at school, so they must have felt that I would do better at an outside activity.

...even though I had (and still have, for that matter) the athleticism of Stephen Hawking.

Did I also mention that I was in Catholic school at the time and being thrust into a crowd full of kids who went to the local public school, which my parents (as all Catholic school parents did) tended to look down upon?

Yeah, this was going to work out great.

For one season--and one season only--I played Little League baseball. I played for the Astros, despite having never been anywhere near Houston (or even Texas) yet in my young life. My position was either center field or right field; I forget. All I know is that the coach wisely placed me somewhere that the ball rarely reached. He knew that, if the ball reached me, it would get back to home plate via Earth's rotation before it would get back via my throwing.

It also didn't help that I constantly had this on my hand.

A baseball glove on the hand of a baseball player?! It's so crazy that it just might work!

This wasn't just any glove, though. Rather, it was a Mag Pee-Wee variety. As a huge fan of Pee-Wee Herman at the time, this entertained my easily-amused mind to no end. I paid more attention to this tiny connection with my pop culture idol than I did to anything happening on the field.

But it was batting that helped me discover that I was truly not cut out for baseball.

I of course couldn't hit anything thrown by the pitcher; something about a small object being thrown at me at a high rate of speed makes me want to wince and/or run in terror. Sadly, such a reaction rarely results in grand slams, or even singles. Thus, they brought out the tee each time I was up to bat.

I struck out.

Seriously. The ball was sitting at a perfect height directly in front of me, moving at the speed of a cemetery, and I still swung and missed MULTIPLE times.

Definitely no Little League World Series for me.

So did my parents pull me aside, tell me that they appreciated my efforts, and let me go back to doing what made me truly happy, which was playing video games?

Of course not. I got forced into soccer next.

I started out on a team named the "Mosquitoes." It quickly became apparent to everyone from my teammates to spectators that an actual mosquito would handle the soccer ball better than I could. As a result, I became about as well-liked as, well, a mosquito.

We played on a rather expansive field directly underneath--and I am not kidding--giant sewage treatment tanks.

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At least I wasn't the only thing in the area that stank (rim shot).

I played soccer for 4 years, a clear indication that Little League soccer--at least in suburban Philadelphia--does not require skill to participate. In those 4 years of soccer playing, I never ONCE, not even during practice, scored a single goal. As was the case in baseball, I was happy enough to stand around in a spot where I never came in direct contact with the ball; if I could have somehow played on the team by sitting in my parents' car, I gladly would have. In fact, my teammates would have backed me up on that.

Season after season, though, I stuck it out, focusing my attention less on the game and more on making sure my ill-fitting shin guards were actually facing forward. I obligatorily attended all of the banquets that the township threw for us each year at the grand Ramada Inn near the airport, where I ate catered food and collected my latest participation trophy.

My soccer--and Little League--career came to a long-overdue end sometime in 5th grade, when I left a game in tears because I was being constantly mocked by my own team's star player for sucking so bad. This was back in 1990 or 1991, so it was long before bullying became the pressing issue that it is today, so my parents of course didn't back up my decision to quit, fearing that my social life would dead-end into dark rooms illuminated only by the dim glow of the TV set. My self-esteem was shattered, sure, but it was glued back together years later when, as the proud employee of a local TV station, I ran into said bully working the night shift at a local 7-Eleven.

In summation, if the Taney Dragons of Philadelphia still get a parade despite losing it all, then where is MY parade? And, if I am owed one (or 20, considering my Little League performance history), can we make sure that the route goes past 7-Eleven?

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Vaporman87 Posted on Aug 27, 2014 at 01:36 PM

Ha! Life comes full circle when the bully winds up working the counter at a 7-Eleven.

I can sympathize with your plight in Little League. I played Little League baseball for a short time in grade school as well. I quit for reasons I can't really remember. I think it had something to do with witnessing another player on my team get a black eye getting hit by a pitch.

I was better suited for Cub Scouts, which I stayed with for a far longer period of time, still quitting it before entering Webelos though. I have a long history of not finishing things. How this website ever came into being is a miracle. LOL

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