Hardball, softball, fastball, and slowpitch or lob-ball are all passionate games in Canada and the United States, played by kids and adults and anyone capable of holding a bat and running a base.
Never mind skills or whether or not you have an audience - the game is played anyway.
They even invented T-ball for babies, or at least ones who could stand and toddle a few feet.
I hardly knew anyone who didn't play ball sooner or later - even the ones too scared to catch a ball or face the pitcher at bat.
Running like an athlete wasn't important either. I've seen deranged spiders run better than some players, but the spiders always forgot to touch the base when they passed it.
One redheaded girl skooched down low to the ground and crab-ran, her little arms pumping like windmills to pick up the slack from what her legs weren't doing for her.
One kid ran knock-kneed, lower legs flailing out sideways, pumping the air like mad pistons.
Men with heavy behinds plowed around bases like the tractors they rode all day, while their wives cheered them on, holding babies on their laps.
Batters were even more intense and funnier.
There's a proper method to holding a bat, but to many it isn't a natural occurrence, so they have to be taught. Over and over and over. They would swing too high, too low, too choppy, too soon, or too late, and some even clubbed homeplate to death, whacking at the ball like an axe to wood when a low ball - a really low ball - zinged past them. That never got anyone a hit, but it sure didn't stop them from doing it.
We played ball as kids in school, every recess and lunch hour, because what school didn't have a ball diamond with a huge backdrop and all?
Leagues were formed in villages and counties, in churches and businesses and towns. Little businesses, like that local diner or garage or general store, would lay out a few bucks for t-shirts that all looked the same, or else you played in your own clothes.
Parents and sisters brought lawn chairs and snacks to watch the games and catch up on the latest gossip.
Kids and older kids hitched a ride on anything that had wheels to go and play a game on another diamond in another town.
Bats got old, gloves got older, thin and battered and useless, and balls became relics that could no longer produce a homerun but were still relatively round.
Rivalry was rampant even with the rules of good sportsmanship, and a nasty umpire always took the insults. He was expected to. He had no choice.
It was hard outgrowing a team and watching the younger ones take your place.
You could turn coach then, if you couldn't really let go and move on.
Major League Baseball is in Florida right now for Spring Training. It means those little boys have grown up playing ball and are still at it, as grown men.
It means they're living their childhood dream, and so are the coaches and the trainers.
And those who don't play, now or never have played, can still be a part of it in the stands, as spectators.
I loved the old days when a league pitcher had a potbelly and rode a golfcart from the bullpen to the mound. Totally hilarious to me.
The players played ball back then. Period. No product endorsements, facial hair, long hair, or pretty boy looks were even allowed. You were a man.
No fancy muscles or tight uniforms to show them off. You played ball.
My brother said that slowpitch or lob-ball was invented for old guys like himself (he was forty-two at the time - really) because they loved to play ball in the summertime, but couldn't get the hits or run like blazes anymore.
I loved fastball the best - young men playing softball rules with a hardball. It was better watching material than baseball.
These guys were serious players and they rarely had an audience. Because it was all about ball. They were good. it was intense and it was summertime, and nothing could stop them - not even rain.
Never mind skills or whether or not you have an audience - the game is played anyway.
They even invented T-ball for babies, or at least ones who could stand and toddle a few feet.
I hardly knew anyone who didn't play ball sooner or later - even the ones too scared to catch a ball or face the pitcher at bat.
Running like an athlete wasn't important either. I've seen deranged spiders run better than some players, but the spiders always forgot to touch the base when they passed it.
One redheaded girl skooched down low to the ground and crab-ran, her little arms pumping like windmills to pick up the slack from what her legs weren't doing for her.
One kid ran knock-kneed, lower legs flailing out sideways, pumping the air like mad pistons.
Men with heavy behinds plowed around bases like the tractors they rode all day, while their wives cheered them on, holding babies on their laps.
Batters were even more intense and funnier.
There's a proper method to holding a bat, but to many it isn't a natural occurrence, so they have to be taught. Over and over and over. They would swing too high, too low, too choppy, too soon, or too late, and some even clubbed homeplate to death, whacking at the ball like an axe to wood when a low ball - a really low ball - zinged past them. That never got anyone a hit, but it sure didn't stop them from doing it.
We played ball as kids in school, every recess and lunch hour, because what school didn't have a ball diamond with a huge backdrop and all?
Leagues were formed in villages and counties, in churches and businesses and towns. Little businesses, like that local diner or garage or general store, would lay out a few bucks for t-shirts that all looked the same, or else you played in your own clothes.
Parents and sisters brought lawn chairs and snacks to watch the games and catch up on the latest gossip.
Kids and older kids hitched a ride on anything that had wheels to go and play a game on another diamond in another town.
Bats got old, gloves got older, thin and battered and useless, and balls became relics that could no longer produce a homerun but were still relatively round.
Rivalry was rampant even with the rules of good sportsmanship, and a nasty umpire always took the insults. He was expected to. He had no choice.
It was hard outgrowing a team and watching the younger ones take your place.
You could turn coach then, if you couldn't really let go and move on.
Major League Baseball is in Florida right now for Spring Training. It means those little boys have grown up playing ball and are still at it, as grown men.
It means they're living their childhood dream, and so are the coaches and the trainers.
And those who don't play, now or never have played, can still be a part of it in the stands, as spectators.
I loved the old days when a league pitcher had a potbelly and rode a golfcart from the bullpen to the mound. Totally hilarious to me.
The players played ball back then. Period. No product endorsements, facial hair, long hair, or pretty boy looks were even allowed. You were a man.
No fancy muscles or tight uniforms to show them off. You played ball.
My brother said that slowpitch or lob-ball was invented for old guys like himself (he was forty-two at the time - really) because they loved to play ball in the summertime, but couldn't get the hits or run like blazes anymore.
I loved fastball the best - young men playing softball rules with a hardball. It was better watching material than baseball.
These guys were serious players and they rarely had an audience. Because it was all about ball. They were good. it was intense and it was summertime, and nothing could stop them - not even rain.
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