“Ensnared by Little League”

The following is part of a series called Short Short Sports Stories which are real life stories, funny stuff, quips and things that happened around 1000 words.



Little League Baseball is one of those formative experiences. Sort of like basic military training for life, designed especially for little boys.

As participants in Little League, we get to experience it all. Not only how to run, hit, throw and but also get to be part of a social experiment. And as part of the social experiment, as Little League kids, we got fed little bits of what we would experience as adults later in life. The good comes with the bad.

Good things we learn about: teamwork, different styles of communication, perseverance and the rewards it brings, as well as second chances, the value of effort and hard work, the thrill of victory, and the joy of a good ice cream cone after a game.

The less savory parts of the game and life: cheating, bad sportsmanship, egos, personal agendas, and nepotism.

Maybe the words I’ve used make it sounds worse than it is. Sure, it’s not like pitchers in the 3rd grade were coating fastballs with Vaseline. Nor were there 10 year old hitters in my Little League were using pine tar on their bats, charging the mound, or bribing umpires. At least that I know of…

As a young kid, I moved around a little bit before my family got settled in suburbia, Pennsylvania. I was a small kid who wasn’t a superstar athlete, but not so bad, so Little League Baseball was a key part of settling in with the neighbors and getting acclimated to the township.

At the school play ground there were two cliques: 1) the kid with the ball and all the friends he chooses to let play with him, and 2) the others.

Outside of the schoolyard, the local Little League haphazardly served as a key institution. Public parks, open enrollment, combined with shared equipment and a supportive crowd of moms and dads seemed to paint a picture of harmony-in-sports. So as a kid, it was my assumption (maybe a grand one) that Little League ball was an institution that was supposed to level the playing field a bit, for those of us who never got much time with the ball at the schoolyard.

Unlike the schoolyard, Little League gave you the opportunity dress up in uniform. Our team got Navy polyester ball caps, the old plastic-mesh kind, with matching shirts that bore the name of a local electrician, bank or plumber who was our sponsor. The pre-season started out with a few mandatory practices to get you warmed up and ready for the first week of the season; one which consisted mostly of games threatened by rain, or subsequent to rain.

I got to play Right Field (or Right Puddle, it could be called maybe), which is the place where coaches stick kids who are average…average at baseball, with average connections. Plus I had a decent throwing arm for a 3rd grader, just in case another 3rd grader might hit to Right, which was unlikely come to think of it.

Meanwhile Keith, a year younger then me, got to pitch and play where ever he wanted because he was great at every position and a phenomenal hitter for a 2nd grader on a 3rd grade kids’ team. Among others, there was Derrick, whose dad was some hot shot with the league and a local political type.

The one thing that got my baseball stretch pants in a bunch as a youth was seeing other players no better than me start every game, and bump me off the lineup. Some players got to play the whole game so long as their dads were coaches or sponsors. Some of this is part of Life; some of this is nepotistic BS of course.

But the dad-kid-lineup hook up seemed to be in force no matter how clumsy the connected kids were on the field or how many times they struck out. Hell, even if you couldn’t pitch, you might get to pitch if you were a son of an important member of Little League baseball’s secret troika somewhere.

Derrick got to play 3rd Base when he felt like playing Mike Schmidt, 1st Base when he wanted to pretend to be Pete Rose, and got to pinch hit (sometimes for me) when he wanted to be Fred Lynn. But unlike Fred Lynn, his hitting sucked.

We played about 10 games, with mediocre success and “made” the playoffs against the other three teams in our four team league. With better play or a better, more honest lineup we could have won more games that season to take the top spot for glory.

Caution....Please mind the twine.

Probably the best sequence of play that season came in the last game in May when the new grass seed for summer was just planted. The tough part about playing on a new field is that you can’t step on the “new grass” when they plant it. After all it’s cordoned off with twine.

A little buddy of mine on the other team that night took a couple of hard swings against our star pitcher, fouling the ball once and again, over and over. It started to frustrate our star, Keith, who could usually strike a guy out.

On the twelfth or fourteenth pitch maybe, my friend swung and got a piece of the ball. It looked like a line drive to Left popping it up high along the 3rd base line. Whether it would end foul or fair, the hit had some legs to it.

Derrick, who was playing Left Field that evening went running after the ball, head looking up toward the sky. Trending foul, he ran toward the baseline, glove out for the catch. Before he could get a hand in front of the descending baseball, he took a step toward the new grass and ran neck first, right into the twine, getting clothes lined.

Several “Ohs” and “Ouchs” from the shocked crowd, reacting to this wipeout –a Little League version of a NASCAR road accident—but Derrick got back up. He was fine and brushed off his embarrassment showing he was OK and ready to play again.

Worst of all (for him) he made what would have been a fantastic diving catch for a crucial out look like a penultimate screw up by an overconfident, careless goon. Only because he couldn’t mind the twine.

But then again, if I recall, his connection or influence with our coach got him the right to play where ever he wanted. One that night, pretending to be Gary Maddox, Derrick chose Left Field.

And maybe for once that night, Little League Karma just bit Derrick and Little League Nepotism in the ass.

Andy Frye writes about sports and life at MySportscomplex.blogspot.com and tweets his daily sports mania thru @MySportsComplex on Twitter. He is still recovering from the World Cup as are you.

World Cup Round Up: Holland Head-on as Mighty Brazil Falls; Iberia Clashes

Nobody said that Brazil was unbeatable, but everyone quietly thought so. Except for the Dutch...maybe.

Today the Netherlands, also known as soccer’s most self destructive infighting specialists, came back from Brazil’s first strike to finish off the world’s number one squad 2-1.



For Brazil, Robinho (pronounced Ro-BEAN-yo, for my American pals) scored at the 10 minute mark after knocking down the receiving the end of a long pass from winger Kaká, Up the center, Holland’s defense was absent as Brazil scored in effortless fashion. A few minutes later, Kaká almost made it 2-0 with a brilliant curved ball that the Dutch keeper blocked one-handed with a lunge.

But after the half, the Netherlanders showed resolve on defense with a one-two punch on offense.

The Dutch first scored after a strike from Wesley Sneijder skidded off the head of Brazil’s defender Luis Fabiano, and then into the goal. Making it 2-1 for Holland occurred in similar style as a corner kick bounced from the head of Dirk Kuyt to the bald head of Sneijder into the back of the net.

The last few weeks has shown a Dutch side that has done well on defense, but has featured a display of uneasy strikers up front, sometimes bickering instead of scoring.

Unike America’s most favorite surprised-filled neurosis, March Madness basketball, the World Cup often has fewer surprises for the fans. Rarely, it seems, does the minnow eat the shark on the world stage.

Sure, Brazil came to the pitch today with their usual speed, excellent passing and fantastic skill. However, every once in a while, a measured and disciplined performance, like that of the Dutch today, can best the theatrics of the world’s most consistent juggernaut. But the Dutch aren't the only ones.

Wednesday saw two of the best national teams both from the same nook of Europe go at it in Capetown. At the end Spain bumped Portugal 2-1 in a long and slow battle.

Portugal hasn’t often figured into the top realm since the days of Eusébio, The Black Panther, in the late ‘60s and 70s. But in the last few years, Portugal has had its share of superstars like Cristiano Ronaldo build up the squad into a recognized force. It was with Ronaldo’s blaze that a firey Portugal scored seven against North Korea last Monday.

Yet, it’s been said by some that the people of Spain are formal and methodical in their approach to all things, and if so, this week their football showed it. The result of the match was a one goal win for Spain, after 63 minutes of knocking consistently on the goalkeeper’s door.

Spain’s goal came from the foot of David Villa from a pass from the masterful work of midfielder Xavi, who ESPN Magazine recently called the “Steve Nash of soccer”.

Holland will face either Ghana or two time cup winners Uruguay next week, with the fixture to be decided today. While, on the other side of the bracket, Spain will meet Paraguay Saturday after an epic battle between Argentina and Germany.

Stay tuned for more surprises...maybe.