T-ball is over. Which is probably good as games were always on Thursdays and today, being a Thursday, is starting off rather cold and wet. BigBrother, however, is not really embracing the end of the season. I can’t blame him. I mean, look how happy he was to be taking t-ball pictures.

For two days after t-ball was over, trophies having been handed out, BigBrother wore his hat as he ran around the yard and ran errands with FireDad. I remember feeling that way as each of my softball seasons ended. Of course, our hats back in the day, except for my last year, were those horrible trucker type hats with the mesh back and the high front featuring the name of our sponsor. No, I won’t scan that for you, either.

I’m torn, however, with the ending of BigBrother’s first t-ball season. I know he loved playing but there are a few reasons that I’m glad this season is over.

Reasons that I’m glad t-ball is over:

1. The Mean Kid on the team will stop poking his forefinger in my BigBrother’s face on the field and knocking LittleBrother down on the sidelines. I know I can’t protect my kids from everything. (You know, they might want to be firefighters.) But when some mean, nasty kid gets in his face every. single. game., well, I get kind of peeved. At the very last game, the Mean Kid finally pushed LittleBrother with his glove. I wanted to cuss at the kid but, well, I don’t do that. I simply said, “Excuse me,” picked up LittleBrother and sat in my chair. Later, another Mom on the team gave me kudos for saying something. Apparently the Mean Kid didn’t just pick on my children. He was mean to all of them. (I don’t know if that made me feel better or worse.) He also spit on kids at the first game. Glad to be done with that… until next year… and hopefully the Mean Kid will be on some other poor kids’ team.

2. We can get away from the smoke. No, seriously. WHO SMOKES AT A T-BALL GAME? I mean, you’re not even allowed to smoke at PNC Park so why on Earth would you be allowed to smoke at a t-ball game? The ages of these children are three to six, depending on when they start(ed) Kindergarten. A large number of these children have younger brothers and sisters running around the sideline with happy little pink lungs. A surprisingly large number of the mothers were pregnant, gestating little lungs. But these smokers didn’t care. They didn’t walk to their cars to light up. They stood behind my chair, where my one and a half year old sat on my lap, and blew their nasty smoke over my head. UGH!

3. Playing guessing games with the weather. The constant, “Will it rain hard enough to cancel the game or can we get it in between the raindrops or, OMG! THUNDER! RUN!” got tiresome. Make-up games made for rescheduling of other things and busy weeks. I’m glad to be done with that as I prefer to know my schedule weeks in advance. What can I say? I don’t like change.

But, other than those things, we had a great season. It was a great experience for BigBrother. He found something that he really likes. He could really take or leave basketball. But t-ball? He throws the ball alone in our yard now, runs and gets it and then throws it to “first base,” yelling what he is doing the whole while. It’s adorable.

And that’s the main reason I’m sad that the season is over: BigBrother loved it. He mentioned t-ball just yesterday. We reminded him that t-ball was over now. “Don’t you remember getting your trophy.” His trophy, of course, is still sitting at his placemat on our kitchen table. It has to sit there, to be admired at breakfast, lunch, dinner and all table snacks. He nodded but his face fell a bit. We explained that he could play again next year but, really, what does a year mean to a three and a half year old? A cross between absolutely nothing and an eternity.

Again, I can’t say enough about the coaches, the experience. Hesitant at first, he was running the bases on his own by his last three or four games. He laughed when he would swing and miss, the missing becoming less of a normal occurrence in those last few games. He would also run for the ball and actively field it. He bonded with his coaches, understanding to listen to them. He didn’t always hustle on and off the field. He didn’t always like paying attention when he was on the field. (Lasering other kids and pretending to be a cross between Buzz Lightyear, Spiderman and a Transformer were other means of field standing entertainment. Would that be Buzz Spideformer?) He also deeply, truly and really loved getting ice cream cones after games. But, really, so did I. So did FireDad. LittleBrother, our lactose intolerant little buddy, however, was not as deeply moved by the after game tradition.

All in all, I’m thrilled with this recent organized sports experience. Minus the Mean Kid, the other kids on his team were great to and for BigBrother as well. BigBrother brought the entertainment value with his aforementioned Buzz Spideformer performances. I still don’t think we’ll be purchasing tiny cleats for next year (it’s community t-ball, folks, not the big leagues) but we may need to purchase LittleBrother’s glove soon so he’ll stop gunning for his brother’s glove.

I can handle this, by the way, being a T-ball Mom. I didn’t yell from the sidelines (except to tell him to leave the Mean Kid alone and keep his hands to himself). I did cheer and clap when he hit and ran but I never scolded. I won’t be that kind of T-ball Mom. But, really, this is much better than the squeaking shoes of basketball. Fresh air (minus the smoke), dog piles on the ball and laughter? Yes please!

As some of you may recall, BigBrother is experiencing his first season of YMCA sponsored t-ball this summer. It’s not his first experience with organized sports as he got to play YMCA sponsored basketball earlier this year. I’m glad he played basketball because it really prepared him for t-ball in that he knows what a coach is and that it is okay to listen to a coach. He’s also not as freaked out by the amount of children running around which is quite different than that first day of basketball practice.

He’s grown so much in six months. During that time, he really popped out of his shell. I attribute some of that to his fabulous first year of preschool experience. I think a nod can be given to basketball as well. And, of course, the constant prodding encouragement to actually speak to people when spoken to by us, the parents, might also have finally gotten through his thick skull (brought to you by the genetics of Yours Truly). Whatever the case, he is loving t-ball. He looks forward to games. He is devastated when a thunderstorm results in the cancellation of said game. We read Froggy Plays T-ball all day on game days. And he generally has a great time.

He has learned to run the bases, though he prefers if the coach helping him bat runs with him to first base. He generally runs to second, third and home on his own though one time he forgot to run to second. He doesn’t swing the bat very hard but, again, with patient coaches, he’s helped along with nice words and instruction. Eventually, he gets out of the initial foul ball territory and is quite proud when he does! As for fielding, our team has taken a different approach than some of the other teams. Someone is always on first base. The rest of the team is split into two lines where the second baseman and shortstop would stand. The two kids who are the front of the line with each batter are then allowed to field the ball. After that batter, the go to the back of the line (where BigBrother chest bumps with his friends and makes laser sounds, of course). BigBrother has actually started running after the ball and, on occasion, comes up with it. He knows to throw to first, though he’s a bit slow about it (which does not result in yelling by the coaches, by the way). He’s always so proud. So are we! I love that the coaches approach fielding in this manner because it gives everyone a chance to touch the ball and avoids the infamous T-ball Dog Pile every time someone hits the ball. Smart coaches we have! And, of course, after each game, they get a snack.

And, so, in short, BigBrother is having a fabulous time playing t-ball. (And learning!)

There are some issues, of course, but they have little to do with BigBrother, the coaches, the YMCA or even ourselves. I’m learning, far too quickly for my liking, that not everyone is in the game for the fun of it nor do people care about how the decisions they make affect other people. But that’s a different post for another week. Today we are just happy that things are going so well!

Here’s a video from BigBrother’s first ever t-ball game (early May 2009) as he crosses the plate after his first time around the bases. (Warning: Goodness, I am loud. Turn down your volume for Pete’s sake.)

He’s always so proud when he crosses home plate now (which he touches without (loud?) encouragement from us). He also runs a little faster now. Hustling is not in his vocabulary unless he is playing Mr. Incredible in the back yard.

In the end, we’ll just continue to do what we do: encourage BigBrother to have fun, look at the ball and listen to his coaches. We’re really excited that, except for that one time when he told his coach that he’d just “wait right here” on the sidelines when it was their turn on the field, we (as his parents) haven’t had to actively push him onto the field or really do much of anything. (We had to stand on one end of the court in basketball because he was unsure of how or why he should listen to coaches who were, in essence, strangers.) Despite the not-yet-mentioned issues, we’re really enjoying watching him play his games… simply because he’s enjoying playing his games. I think he’ll be devastated when the season is over.

Looks like we’ll be playing t-ball in the yard all summer. Anybody up for a game?

As BigBrother’s first t-ball game was canceled last week and today’s game isn’t likely to be played due to a forecast of thunder storms, I figure I’ll talk about baseball anyway. Why? I like baseball. No, no. I love baseball.

I grew up playing softball. When I started playing softball, the Pittsburgh Pirates didn’t… stink… exactly. In fact, one of our team trips was to watch a Pirates game at good ole Three Rivers Stadium. (Memories!) A friend and I made signs that said, “ANDY VAN SLYKE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?!” (As a side note, my husband recently broke my heart when I was relating this story to him and he said, “Who is Andy Van Slyke?” He also didn’t know who Donny Iris is but he does enjoy a good Primanti Brother’s sammich. There’s hope for him. If we buy him a Pittsburgh history book. Maybe.)

Back to baseball.

It’s not always easy being a Pirates fan. In fact, for my (recent) birthday, FireDad bought me a shirt from Wear Pittsburgh. It reads:

Pittsburgh Baseball: the occasional fleeting whiff of mediocrity

You have to be a Pittsburgh fan to get that, I suppose. Or, at least familiar enough with baseball to know that the Pirates haven’t exactly been fantastic since the days of Andy Van Slyke, Bobby Bonilla and Barry Bonds. (Yes. We once had Barry Bonds.) We occasionally have some good games or, like this year, a decent start to a season but, sadly, it all comes crashing down. Eventually. When we literally drop the ball. Repeatedly.

All the same, despite years and years of losing seasons, I remain a Pirates fan. You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl. I bleed black and gold for all sports. The Steelers, Pirates and Penguins will always be my teams despite their rankings. Sure, it’s easier when they do things like win the Super Bowl and make it to the Stanley Cup playoffs but, in the end, I’ll cheer them on no matter what. (Notice that I didn’t mention the World Series. That’s just a pipe dream, right?)

Our schedules are awfully full for this summer already. We won’t be going to a lot of games but we are planning on one special one. This year the Pittsburgh Pirates at PNC Park will be having three separate firefighter nights. You may remember our not-so-awesome time at last year’s firefighter recognition night (and our subsequent free game). This year I’ll know to go find security if someone behind me is acting like a total jagoff. But, all the same, there are three dates for “local” firefighters this year. (I say “local” in quotes because we’re not particularly local-local but we’re invited every year.)

• May 31st – vs Astros
• June 13 – vs Tigers (Honus Wagner WS 1909 Collectible night!)
• June 30 – vs Royals (Zambelli (!) Fireworks show)

(Another sad side note: FireDad didn’t know who Honus Wagner was either. He breaks my heart all the time.)

We’re most likely attending the June 13th game as, unfortunately, FireDad works both of the other games. (Which leads me to believe that the person who arranged this has no concept of the firefighter schedule. If FireDad is working two of the games when fire schedules are broken into three separate shift days, wouldn’t it have made more sense to schedule a game on each of the separate days? Perhaps someone needs to forward them a three shift fire calendar. Anyway…) Hopefully this year they will remember to order medium sized shirts as last year’s large was a bit large on me.

What I’m really hoping this year is that whomever is sitting in front of and/or behind us will remember that baseball is a family game. Sure. It’s firefighter recognition night. And, yes, firefighters deserve a night off to destress and enjoy themselves. But when foul language, throwing of things and a general lack of respect for other game-goers ends up ruining the experience for everyone else, it’s no fun for anyone. There’s always one guy who takes his shirt off, even at a night game, as the game nears its end, yelling something about Andy Van Slyke (I swear it’s not me) but for it to last the entire game is absolutely ridiculous. A few of the comments I received on the post about why it’s good to be married to a firefighter brought up the idea that firefighters are generally really great people. I would tend to agree. They’re great people. I hope that the firefighters in attendance this year are able to remember their manners and act like the up-standing citizens the rest of society believes them to be. Because if that doesn’t happen, I’ll get your jagoff butt thrown out. Now wouldn’t that be embarrassing with all of your fire buddies there? Thought so. Watch your mouth. (See also: Guest Conduct and Guest Relations.)

In the end, we are excited to have another night of baseball, nachos, over-priced pop, Primanti sammiches and togetherness. While we will likely take BigBrother to a late summer game this year, we’ve decided that his little ears are not likely ready for the likes of firefighter night as we learned last year. And so, a date night will be had. Free shirts will likely be worn over what we show up in. Pictures will be taken. And maybe, just maybe, the Pirates will win.

And if they don’t, maybe I’ll just start collecting the Fleeting Whiff shirts in all of the different color combinations. That doesn’t seem like a bad idea either way it falls.

(Since writing this, the sun has come out from behind the clouds. Looks like t-ball might happen which makes my evening insanely busy. Great fun!)

It’s raining today. Feels fitting. It always rained on the day of my first softball game. It would end up canceled and rescheduled for the end of the season. Welcome to BigBrother’s first t-ball game day. Canceled. To be rescheduled. Such is life. He wore a t-shirt with a baseball on it to preschool today. What are the chances he’ll forget about the game when we pick him up from school? Minimal? Figures. I suppose we’ll have to read Froggy Plays T-ball a few extra times at bedtime tonight to appease him. That’s okay though because that book is a new favorite for all of us.

I’m pleased with our coaches and team thus far. Much like our basketball experience, our coaches understand that children in the 3-6 year age range don’t quite understand the concept of t-ball/baseball. Our team is a good mix of first year players and a few kids who have played before. Basically, it’s an introduction to listening to someone else and teamwork is what we’re going for along with some fun and cute memories.

Okay, mainly the cute memories. Like the time my cousin was running to second base but a train started to pass the field. So he just stopped to watch it pass. Stuff like that is priceless stuff to tell the boys’ future spouses. Or the internet. Right?

However, I’m not particularly pleased with some things going on in the “league” right now. My friend’s daughter is on a different team. She’s three years and four months old. Her team is full of five and six year old boys. That’s not the problem though one could argue that they could have better placed children on teams. The problem is the coach. As they had to reschedule the first practice due to weather (oh, Spring), her husband who had been set to be an assistant coach, couldn’t attend due to work. My friend went with intention of helping in place of her husband. Having played softball all through school and loving the sport in general, she felt qualified to do so. When asked where her husband was, she informed the coach that she would be helping today in place of her husband due to the schedule change. The coach looked at her and said, “I really wanted a man.”

What?

That man is lucky he didn’t say those words to me. I’ve actually had a hard time not calling the YMCA for my friend and launching into a tirade. I don’t quite understand, however, what caused this issue. The teams are co-ed. There are women coaches on other teams. It’s not as if this a professional, touring t-ball team with a big “NO GIRLS ALLOWED” sign hanging on the field fence. It’s a YMCA league for kids who are three to six years of age. Boys. Girls. Both. In the end, everyone wins as they all get trophies. Why did he have to play the gender card? Why can’t woman coach? Why did he think he could get away with saying that?

Of course, my friend then had issues as her daughter, who was born premature, is the smallest three year old in our entire preschool. So, it would follow that she’s one of the smaller three year old kiddos most people come in contact with. She then had parents of the boys on the team saying things like, “That girl isn’t even old enough to play!” I swear, if I would have been my friend that day, I would have blown up, verbally assaulted everyone and then my child would never have been welcome in YMCA sports ever again. Perhaps it’s lucky that it was my friend and not me.

And so, some tips to pass on so you don’t anger mothers like me in the future:

1. If you’re a parent of a child on the older side of the age range, do not make comments about the size or age of the smaller, younger players. I don’t know many parents that would enroll their one year old children in t-ball. Assume that the child is old enough to play if she’s present.

2. If you’re a coach, don’t be a sexist pig. That little girl deserves a right to have a coach who is going to treat her as if she can play just as well as those little boys. She deserves to believe that she can do whatever they can do. And if you treat her mother like she’s “less than” you just because she doesn’t have the same genitalia, you’re cheating her out of that experience. You can tell me that experiences in t-ball don’t matter and I’ll counter with, “Then why the over-dramatic need to win?”

3. For Pete’s sake, remember that it’s just t-ball. Let the kids have fun. Leave your competitive spirit for arguing who is going to win on American Idol. Don’t bring it to the t-ball field. Let them be children. Let them have fun.

It really doesn’t seem all that hard, does it? Shouldn’t organized sports at this age be about laughter, learning and ice cream after the game? Shouldn’t we be encouraging our children to learn about fair play instead of forcing them to win at all costs? Shouldn’t we be nice to each other?

Or am I off in right field picking dandelions by myself?

Whatever the case, I hope BigBrother’s team (The Bees!) beats that coach’s team into the ground. Oh, wait, I just played into the competitive spirit, didn’t I? Will it make it better if I make enough cookies for both teams to have afterward? It will? Okay. I’ll do that.

Here’s hoping that our season is fun for all. Including my friend’s daughter’s team.