Between the ages of 4 and 13, I ate, slept, and breathed baseball. It started with the '69 Cubs and grew and spread out from there. Makeshift games in the backyard with my dad (and sometimes one or both of my sisters recruited) or just swinging at a ball hanging by a string from a tree, I was hooked at an early age. At 6 or 7, I was taking paper, pencil, and ruler to create my own scorecards to track the games I was watching on television. Baseball cards? Of course, using them and a pair of dice to have games.

One of my fondest childhood memories from that time is of stopping to watch the bigger kids play, only to be asked to join in the game. They were doing it as a joke, but I smacked the ball and reached base on my first swing, earning their respect and a spot in a regular neighborhood pickup game. Truly, I had average to above average skills but I had such a love for the game.

What's funny, looking back, is that my parents never signed me up for organized play until I pushed them on it, when I was about 9 years old. Since I was 5, I had known kids that had been in league play, and I was always envious of them. Getting a uniform, a hat, participating in regular and organized practices, and playing in the league games just about completed my young life.

That began, however, a string of years on non-competitive teams, where we usually finished at best in the middle of the pack and once or twice at the bottom of the league.

Think Charlie Brown.

And over the years, it wore on me. And in some ways I think I became accustomed to losing.

When I was 11, I quit the little league team to practice my basketball skills, hoping to make the school team in the fall. I disappointed my coach, my dad, and myself in the process, but I made the basketball team that fall. I was the shortest and the slowest to be chosen, but I was happy to be on the team, even if I was sitting on the bench come game day.

And when I was 13, I went back one more time to baseball, a calculated move, to play on the high school team. It wasn't that I loved baseball anymore - I just figured I had the skills and that it was the best way to get a letter.

Somewhere between 9 and 13, I started to care more about winning and losing than just playing the game. And after that point, none of that really mattered anymore.

Coming back to the high-level competition of the Little League World Series, I have to point out that though I grew up aware of the competition, it was never a dream that was an option. My town did not have a traveling team until I reached the point where I didn't love playing baseball anymore. And even so, they weren't associated with a circuit that would have led to Williamsport.

Think "Ivy League of the Little League."

The kids who have had the chance to play at that level, I liken to the students who end up in Ivy League schools. They have lived competitive lives from an early age, through position and advantage, sometimes, as much as talent and drive.

And depending upon where you live, what family you were born into, or what your parents did or didn't do for you - pushed or not - Little League baseball or life, if you don't start in the right place on an early track, the whole thing is a golden ring that very, very few can reach for, much less grab.

Still, I can't say one track is better than the other - they just are. But if they are ever to change, it is important to have books like this to encourage discussion and reflection. I have a son who cares nothing for sports despite my early encouragement - it's just not in him; however, I'm sure that my experiences helped me to accept him and love him for who he is, and to encourage him to have fun and focus on the things he loves to do rather than worry so much about winning and losing.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
by wanderindiana on Thu Oct 12, 2006 at 11:20:33 AM EST