Base-a-ball

Jack Deatherage

(12/2019) As a child, I had little interest in the game, though I played at it- mostly when forced to do so by adults. Lack of interest coincided with lack of skill. I wasn't a runner. Nor could I throw accurately, fast, or over any significant distance. Catching and hitting a ball usually escaped me all together. I understood the rudimentaries of the game, the nuances left me confused.

While spin-offs of baseball were more my thing, I seldom excelled at any aspects of wiffle ball, or softball. Variations of those games were usually played in empty lots, or on open lawns. I don't recall there ever being more than three players on a team and often fewer. While we argued endlessly over rules we had to make up, the games were mostly about killing a summer's day, and avoiding adults when we couldn't ride our bicycles, or go fishing.

As I attained the age of adulthood- if not the composure and bearing of an adult- ball games were seldom witnessed. Occasionally I'd watch a softball game when that was still a thing in this place, and it was a big deal in its day, but only if some of the players were going drinking with me afterward. Rarely would a Little League game pique my interest. Though two such piques come to mind.

Me and another beer quaffing reprobate were sitting under a pavilion near the right outfield of the then Little League diamond when a game commenced. While our peaceful afternoon as soon disrupted by the usual noise of a game we were deep into story telling (some of them even true) so we mostly ignored the kids and their annoyingly vocal families.

Ca-RACK! The sound turned our heads toward the diamond in time to see a well hit ball zip between the feet of the right outfielder- a small kid, maybe 5, or 6 years old.

A feeling of sadness ran through me as I recalled how embarrassed I'd been under a similar circumstance decades before. Then the cries from the bleachers.

"You gawdamn worthless piece of-"

I'll leave it at that. I was stunned by the filthy ranting from the women sitting on the bleachers. Mothers, grandmothers, aunts hurling such vile words as to leave me mouth agape as the boy ran, sobbing, after the ball.

My drinking companion was trembling with anger. The gods know what mental abuse he endured as a child- I'd only heard about small parts of it.

"We have to move, now! Before I grab a bat and clear the bleachers." He was barely in control of his building rage. And him having recently exited the military after four years training to be a combat grunt- I had little doubt overweight civilians could stop him if he went off his nut.

"God, do they have any idea what they are doing to those kids?" He hissed after we'd relocated to a picnic table closer to the post office.

The second incident happened years afterward. I was wandering about and noticed a friend of friends coaching a team involved in some tournament. I moseyed over to watch him at his craft.

"How long you been coaching?" I asked when the inning was over.

"This is my second year. And the last. I can't take any more abuse from the parents. They don't help with fundraising. They don't help maintain the fields or equipment. They don't want to mange, or coach, or umpire. They just yell at everyone doing the work. I've had enough of them."

With the bad odor of past games firmly in mind- why did I wander into the town meeting room after Parks and Recreation liaison, Commissioner Davis, sent out word he wanted to know if there was any interest in getting baseball going again in this place?

Well, mostly to get some exercise by climbing the stairs to the top floor of the community building. I'll also admit to some curiosity, and if pressed hard enough- a nagging twinge of responsibility as a citizen of this place.

There was no surprise in hearing it was the ballplayers' parents who ended the game in this town. Lack of parental involvement probably equaled the abuse by overblown egomaniacs bullying the coaches and kids. As the sport slowly died here the committed families went south to Thurmont, or north to Fairfield so their kids could continue to play unaffected by the this place's arrogant, lazy bullies.

What did surprise me was a prohibition concerning the public ball fields. Based on hearsay- pick-up games are forbidden- unless someone gets permission from the town office. I guess that's why I no longer see handfuls of boys and girls- in causal dress- smacking and throwing balls around with, or without adult supervision?

Today's lament, "There's nothing for the kids to do in this town" is but an echo from my youth. Once the bowling alley and movie theater closed, there was little left to do, but play ball. And play ball the young people did! Which is why the town is spending money today to maintain so many unused ball fields now that our demographics have changed.

Apparently the demographic is changing again. Some of the old movers and shakers of baseball in this place suggested the town at least allow the T-ball field to be opened to a new generation of ball players. There seemed a general agreement among the meeting attendees for a T-ball team or two- if not an actual league. It was also apparent that there is no desire among the current ball players who have joined teams in the Thurmont leagues to start up a new league here. (The families of T-ball kids, those that would like to go on to play in the older age group leagues, would have to organize and commit to reopening our ball fields for their intended purposes.)

Is there a real desire among parents to have baseball back in Emmitsburg? Is there a majority of town commissioners willing to at least open Emmitsburg's fields to Thurmont's growing leagues? (Word at the meeting was- 17% of the kids playing in Thurmont are from Emmitsburg. No one seemed to know how many local kids might have crossed the state line to play in Fairfield.)

While I don't give a damn about baseball, I do give care about having something for the kids to do besides getting in trouble as I and the gang of idiots I hung out with were wont to do. My small attempts at getting kids interested in archery and gardening have proven too small. So if baseball is to be the thing- then I'm for it as best I can be. Which amounts to an occasional column here, a few dollars donated there and a bit of advice for those interested in their kids playing closer to home- Pack the damned meeting room at the town office every time baseball is on the agenda. Nothing will change- in spite of any commitment by commissioners, the mayor, or town staff if people don't turn out to support the effort to rebuild and maintain the game.