Some lessons from America’s pastime ~ April 11, 1991

David Heiller

Ghosts of baseball past and present are mingling like a couple of old timers at the ballpark these days.

For the present, baseball is haunting the four kids in our household, ages 4-7, my own two and the two we have temporarily adopted.

Two or three times a day they ask, “Can we play ball now?” And you can’t just answer “Sure,” not when you’re the only one that can throw the ball across the plate.

The American League has its designated hitter. The Birch Creek League has a designated pitcher: me. I’m also the entire infield, outfield, and umpire.

Actually, it’s pretty fun, if you don’t mind dodging a winter of dried dog droppings, retrieving balls from the sinkhole in the driveway, and most of all, being patient.

All the rules apply, except 
you can't strike out in family ball!

Patience, as with all kid activities, is the main requirement, mainly because you can’t strike out in our game, which is lucky for Tyson and Mollie. Ten or 12 swings before bat meets ball are not uncommon with them. When they are in a slump like that, any contact, fair, foul, or tick, is a hit.

When they get a hit, they all run the bases like mad, and often don’t stop even though I’m bearing down on them, ball in hand.

Slowly they are learning some; basic rules, like don’t run out of the base path, don’t pass another runner, don’t let a hit ball hit YOU, don’t run on a fly ball that might be caught.

They are learning, because when I tag them out, or force them out, or catch a pop fly, the kids are OUT. Sometimes they get angry, pout, even cry. But once they are called out, they stay called out.

That’s the way baseball is: The rules are sacred, and you don’t bend them even for a kid. Besides, the lure of the game, the laughter, the thrill of seeing a ball fly over the old man’s heat for a sure homer, is enough to keep kids from worrying about making an out or two.

You can learn a lot from baseball. (Here come: the ghost of baseball past.) I remember one time in a grade school game, my brother Danny was batting. He hit a ground ball to the left side, and raced to first so fast that his legs outran his body, and he went into first base like he was falling from a tree.

Concentration, as well as a sense of 
humor work well in baseball and life.

It seemed funny for a split second, until we realized that Pete Scanlon was playing first base. Even in eighth grade, Pete was about the size of a garbage truck. He caught the throw, like he always did, just as Danny smacked into him. Then he glanced casually over his left shoulder to see what kind of insect had bit him. It never dawned on him to get out of Danny’s way.

Danny lay crumpled on the ground in a cloud of dust at Pete’s feet. We all held our breath for a second, waiting to see whether he would come up swinging or crying or whether he would come up at all.

Danny instead rolled over onto his back, threw his arms out to the side and rolled his head back in a dying scene that would make John Wayne jealous.

We all laughed. Even Pete laughed, and no one had seen him laugh in three years. Then Danny got up, brushed himself off, and limped back to the bench.

It was a great lesson that Danny had learned on the spot and had taught us just as fast: A little humor goes a long way in a tense situation.

I usually grumble to myself when the kids ask me to play ball these days, because there’s always some work to be done or a book to be read or a nap to be taken. But it never fails that after a few pitches, I’m enjoying the game as much as them. It’s as good a family activity as you’ll find.

And like my brother Danny found out, it might teach you a lesson or two: Don’t take yourself too seriously, and watch how you run when Pete Scanlon is playing first base.