Periodically, I encounter a social media question along the lines of “what from your childhood would today’s youngsters not understand?” I generally don’t give much thought to these questions, although I remember our then twenty-year-old son once asking how a rotary phone works.
No, I won’t launch into a phone-related ramble. Upon reflection, however, here’s my question: do kids today still play softball? (Abrupt turn, I know.) I honestly don’t know, while fearing the answer is not much. My focus here is not school-organized diamond sports, important as they are, fast-pitch softball for girls, baseball for boys. I’m thinking of summer afternoon pick-up games, six or eight players, boys AND girls, ages ranging from 7 to 14, in a backyard, equipped with well-worn gloves, a ball, and one or two bats.
My interest is partly nostalgic. My siblings and I grew up playing softball, starting as soon as snow melted off the backyard. A boxelder tree served as an auxiliary infielder, behind and mostly left of second base, which promoted ground balls and line drives hit underneath its thick branches.
A low-cut stump the circumference of a pie tin was our stationary first base; second was the above cited boxelder’s root, running above and parallel to the ground for several feet. A prominent divot was third base, a persistent bare spot where I had slid, uprooting turf near a temporary base that was no longer needed. Home plate had once been a small brownie pan, which, based on a pre-teen’s judgment, the lawnmower blade would surely clear. It did not. Flattened, the remnant resembled war shrapnel.
This was our homefield until 1964, when our little gem of a diamond became a construction site for what some of us still call “the new house.” In addition to siblings, frequent players included neighbors, friends, and relatives, just as we often played on their diamonds, navigating our way around obstructions.
We also played ball at Mona Grade School, boys and girls, on the little diamond east of the school, with an outfield fence marking the schoolyard’s edge, 20 yards beyond second base. Unfortunately, this wire fence afforded minimal protection for Harvey & Hazel’s west windows. Once or twice a year, we’d pass around a jelly jar, slot cut in the lid, a collection vessel to offset costs of broken glass. There were no trees to contend with, but we did steer around a large, sagging outhouse in short right field, made obsolete by indoor facilities before I entered kindergarten.
Occasionally, we persuaded our “little room” (kindergarten through fourth grade) teacher to umpire a game, basically calling balls and strikes. Sometimes her appraisal was, “Oh, that one looked pretty good!” prompting vague thoughts of “it’s a binary decision… ball or strike?” but that’s probably only in retrospect.
Diagonal to the schoolyard, across the rail tracks and to the north, was the big diamond, site of the 1963 “World Series”. It’s a vivid memory, seasoned by time… boys versus girls, maybe twenty kids participating, a fierce seven-game competition. Games began during morning recess, continued through the noon hour, and concluded during the afternoon break. Although it pains me to admit it, the girls beat us in seven games, due largely to their pitcher’s talents.
(This photo, taken in 2019, is the “big diamond” in Mona, site of the ‘63 World Series.)
Mary lobbed hittable pitches perhaps six inches off the plate, inviting wild swings from overeager boys, resulting in numerous grounders back to the pitcher. Winners were awarded a trophy, a small glass milk bottle painted gold topped with pipe cleaners bent to mimic a ballplayer. Even runner-up status cannot diminish the glow of this childhood memory.
Sixty years ago, twenty kids, seven games spanning a week and half, no adult supervision required. Long-lasting takeaways include exposure to teamwork, sportsmanship (sportspersonship?), working through differences, respect for the opposite sex, everyone participating, plus the thrill of athletic competition.
So, do kids still play softball? If not, where might such lessons be learned?
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Diamonds that Sparkled
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