I didn’t know what to expect when I took my oldest daughter to her first T-ball game. I figured it would be chaotic, but holy shit, it’s like throwing a tennis ball at a bunch of puppies.
Whenever they hit the ball off the tee, with varying degree of success, it was like a swarm. It didn’t matter what “position” they were playing, all of them wanted to get the ball.
“Let’s go, <insert-my-daughters-name>!”
My wife, I, my brother, my parents, her parents and my grandfather all yelled when she came up to bat. Yeah.. we basically took up an entire section. It’s to be understood I guess, my eldest was the first grand baby (and great-grand baby, for that matter).
We had practiced a little bit at home before her first game. My parents had got her a little T-ball set of her own to smack around in their back yard. She was hitting them pretty good, too. The kit they got had fluffy, little balls that didn’t really fly far, so I was sure when she connected with the rubber baseball they use, she was going to launch it.
Now, what you have to understand about my daughter is, she’s a giraffe. I’m 6’3”. She apparently got my genes. She’s a good head taller than literally all of the other players. To them, she must seem like that beastly dude on the high school baseball team that hits dingers and knocks up teachers.
At the instruction of my father, she even takes a gigantic step when swinging. There was no way she wasn’t going to absolutely destroy the ball. It would regret the day it was born.
She gets up to bat. Gets in her stance. Takes her half practice swing to line up her shot. I can’t see myself, but I’m fairly certain I looked like that creepy, nodding GIF of Jack Nicholson.
She swings.
The tiniest, little dribbler I’ve ever seen. In T-ball they have a ring around home plate that it has to go past, and it creeps by it. The moment feels frozen in time.
My daughter, her coach, the other team, my family, the other parents.. we’re all just staring at the ball that dribbled off the tee. Then. Eruption.
“RUN!” We all start cheering at her.
She startles, as if coming out of a trance, and starts to book it toward first. Thank goodness she actually ran towards the correct base, that’s a win. Except..
“Drop the bat!” I hollered.
Halfway down the line, she finally let go of the bat.
We’re in the middle of the “season” now. Most of the kids have gotten accustomed to what they are supposed to do. Of course, there are still certain kids that.. well, yeah.
My daughter is all in. She’s loving it. Her batting is now 50/50. Either she absolutely slaughters a line drive, or she barely touches the ball and it dribbles five feet. No in-between.
Her favorite part, though, is fielding. She’s actually really good at it. Sometimes a little too good..
“Try to only go for the ones in your area, kiddo, alright?”
It was in-between innings and I was having a talk with her about not blitzkrieging the ball and boxing out her teammates.
“But I’m fast. I’m faster than everyone else. So I have to get it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her logic. She was fast. With her long legs, she made the other kids look like they weren’t even trying. I mean, to be honest, half of them don’t try. When the ball is hit, there is usually only 1 or 2 kids paying attention. The rest are staring at the sky or, more commonly, playing in the dirt.
“I know you are, and it’s awesome. Just try not to take the ball from others, alright? That’s not nice, right?”
I get a grumble in response. I don’t want to take away her competitiveness, but also feel like maybe diving onto the dirt to snag a ball that a kid was about to pick up may be a bit over the top.
“Oh, and-”
I get a massive eye roll.
“If your coach asks you to place 1st, just do it, alright? Everyone has to play there sometime.”
“But I want to go after the ball. Cause I’m fast. I have to get the ball cause I’m the fastest.”
“I know, kiddo-”
“And I throw the best.”
I try my best to contain my laughter. It is true. She’s a menace on the field. She made one throw to her unsuspecting first baseman that bounced and landed in his glove.
I sighed.
“Just. Be nice. Go have fun.”
A few minutes later she had grabbed a ball that got by one of the other kids on the field. They promptly had a mental breakdown.
For the most part, with all of the chaos that comes with a T-ball game, things went smoothly. There had been only one instance where a mom drug her child off the field. I don’t say that figuratively, either. He was lying on the ground, wouldn’t get up, she grabbed a foot and drug him off the field.
I’m not saying it was right, all I’m saying is I understand.
Then a game happened where all of the luck had apparently ran out. Third batter of the game, kid was running from 2nd to 3rd and smoked a kid playing the field. His helmet hit the fielder’s nose or maybe cut his lip. The kid was alright, but was bleeding a bit.
Later, another collision happened, though not as bad. The two kids just sort of bounced off each other and plopped onto their butts. No blood, everyone was alright.
The game was almost over, and that’s when my kid decided to be involved in a three child pileup.
She was playing the pitcher position, which she loved because that’s where all the action was. Unless a kid really got ahold of the ball, the pitching position basically could get to the ball on every play.
I subconsciously wished the coach would swap her out of that position mid-inning because.. well, she literally was getting every ball. That position, combined with her speed of making a beeline to the ball, meant she got the ball.
Anyway. Kid comes up and absolutely smokes a ball between first and second. My daughter, being who she is, sees it go past everyone and decides, target acquired. She full on sprints towards the ball.. right into the baseline where a kid was running to second.
To be fair, she had a teammate there as well. It looked like she, who often didn’t look where she was running, noticed her teammate last second and went to get around him.. right into the runner. All three collided and all three hit the deck.
“You okay?!” I hollered from the fence as my kid got back to her feet.
“Yeah!” She hollered back.
The runner seemed mostly okay as well, but her teammate, the other fielder, was absolutely balling. I walked out there with a couple of the other parents.
I gave my kid a once over. A couple scratches, little dirty, but she was fine.
“Sure you’re good?” I asked her again.
She nodded.
“You gotta look where you are going, kiddo. Especially when running.”
“Well,” she looked exasperated that I was insinuating it was her fault, “I was just running toward the ball and then they were just there.”
I couldn’t suppress a smile and small laugh.
“Yeah, kiddo! He’s running to second. It’s on you to stay out of the runner’s way. You also ran into <insert-teammates-name>.”
“Okay. But. He was just standing there.”
“You just gotta watch where you’re going, alright?”
I got an “alright” in a grumble. Her teammate that cried got over it pretty quick and we were able to complete the game without further incident.
Three collisions in one game after having none. Wild. We were heading back to the car when I decided to ask her.
“You like T-ball, kiddo?”
“Yeah!”
She had that smile of pure joy that made my heart melt.
“I like the field part, cause I’m really fast.”
Honorable mention.
The last batter in T-ball always runs all the bases like a home run. Well. My child usually bats last, or second to last. Why? Cause she’s fast. So fast, in fact, that she periodically will blow past the other kids on the bases, because:
“They’re slow. I’m fast. So I just go around them.”