The Little League Coach

Guest Post for Little League Coach
The Call
by Little League Mom
(AKA E. Peevie)

The Wait

We got The Call last week. My son C. Peevie has been waiting for The Call since we handed over our check for 90-some dollars; pulled out the notarized birth certificate to prove that he’s not a short, 16-year-old ringer; and acknowledged the risk of fertility-reducing injuries.

During the four-week wait, C. Peevie dusted off his mitt and started singing the first of one-thousand choruses of “Mom, will you play catch with me!” I gotta start practicing, he told me. I gotta loosen up my arm—it’s been so long since I threw the baseball around! I need to be ready to cover first base, he said optimistically.

The Call

When he got The Call, C. Peevie was excited to learn that he had been drafted by the same coach he had last year. This meant that he’d be on a team with several kids from the ‘hood—but it also meant that he wouldn’t have to prove himself to a coach who didn’t know him. For a moderately-talented, anxiety-prone player, this was a huge relief.

Here in the frozen tundra of the Midwest, the fields are finally thawing enough to start pre-season practice. There are still patches of dirty snow stubbornly refusing melt, but for the most part the lawns and fields are muddy swamps—perfect for the season’s inaugural practice on Wednesday.

The Anticipation

“I can’t wait until Wednesday!” C. Peevie greeted me this morning; and I knew his mind was going to be on baseball for the next four months. (There are worse things an almost 13-year-old could have his mind on, so this little league mom is not complaining.) I guess it’s time to dig out the helmet, bat, baseball pants, and cup.

Speaking of cups, next post: Little League Mom Has Fun Buying a Cup for the First Time.

About The Little League Mom

For more from this author, check out The Green Room (http://greenroomthoughts.blogspot.com/) for posts on sock bumps, poo, misogyny, pet peeves, finding happiness in the dentist’s chair, and much more!