My little brother, Kelley, has played baseball in our town's Pony league for at least 3 years now, multiple fall and summer seasons. This summer was the first season that I started going to his games. My best friend's little brother, who might as well be my brother, Ryan, was on the same team. I now had two players to cheer for. My dad coached this season. Yet another reason to go. When I got to my first game, I cheered for who I knew. Halfway through the season, there were maybe 4 kids I didn't know. Final game: I cheered for everyone. Not only will I have known these great kids, all amazing players, but I'll also have seen their ups and downs as a team, witnessed their excitement to hang out with each other outside of the ball field, and will always remember the difference the season has made on some of their friendships (literally).
While it got tiring to come home from a game smelling like sunscreen and bug spray, listening to my dad rant about some player who never listens, there were a couple things that made up for it.
Such as:
~ Kelley's face when I gave him his quarters as part of our get-a-hit deal,
~ listening to AJ telling me he's my conscience and that I need to give him $5,
~ Danny (someone from another team that my brother knew previously) shaking a player's hand after hitting him with a pitch,
~ celebrating after Ponyfest and Kelley's All Star game,
~ but mostly, sitting on the sidelines and cheering.
Kelley's games are almost the only thing I've looked forward to this summer, considering the only thing that could get in the way of them was bad weather. I have to admit that I love sitting in our lawn chairs with my mom talking about whatever, and also eavesdropping on other parents' conversations. It's funny how often people stick their feet in their mouths and don't even know it.
And there's one more thing that made up for all the bad stuff (Kelley striking out over and over again, watching kids get hit with a pitch but not getting up for a few minutes, terrible umpires). And that was being the banner girl. About halfway through the season, I deci
ded that I wanted to be the only person handling the team banner. I named myself the banner girl, and everyone on or related to the team knew that they weren't to touch the banner. One night, our game was over and another team needed to settle into the dugout. One of their coaches tried taking down the banner and I was about to get upset. My dad started telling him off, and when the guy wouldn't listen, my dad told him it was good luck. The guy listened. My dad must have been speaking the language of baseball, a language I can understand but can't speak. This was actually the night of our second-to-last game. I was touched. I didn't think it was anything special, and I honestly think we lost at one point or another once I started doing the banner. But it didn't matter. I was the banner girl. That banner is in my room, at the moment. I'm still trying to figure out where to put it.
Needless to say, I'm really glad I became involved in this team.
