He did not hit the ball today …

But the ball hit him …

That means the same thing: baserunners. And so it was that we found ourselves in the last inning, whatever inning it was, with the bases loaded and let’s say the tying run at the plate in the first round of the playoffs. This is a league casual enough that they run the scoreboard some of the time. And it is a league with enough sensitive feelings that the players aren’t allowed to say “Hey batter batter batter.” Instead they say “Yeeeeeeeep” each pitch and this is OK.

I saw my first little league parent today, not the cheering, “Pay attention” parent, but the “Don’t throw it to the cutoff man, throw it in!” parent. The “I want to see you dive and catch it” parent. Looked like a biker. He was mildly mortified when his boy overran a ball in center. I’m sure it’ll effect his work all next week.

There is no need to discuss the relative merits of the play of your teammate, the second baseman. These kids are nine. But the demonstrative, chain smoker, ponytail guy felt he had to get his money’s worth.

I’d like to think, if I had a child in a sports league, that I’d let the coach coach and I’d quietly cheer and not do much more than that. My post-game interview — the sort of thing I used to do professionally — would consist of two questions. Did you play hard? Did you have fun? Well, then, pizza!

I would, however, roll my eyes at the rule about squelching batter chatter. That, too, is part of the game.

I did not heckle like a champion today. It was widely acknowledged that the other team was cheating. They were juicing. They had a 32-year-old pitcher. The coach was recruiting not just from his little league fields, but the greater tri-county area. How could he have otherwise fielded a team that could defeat these wholesome young men who played pepper games with pure joie de vivre, who are looking forward to church tomorrow and the end-of-the-season party sometime next week?

When my second cousin was on first base he would have been the tying run. Perhaps. The scoreboard did not say. But there was a pop up and that ended the game. The season came to a sad conclusion, because the boys would play through droughts and rain and all through Christmas if they’d let them. There was a dusty mound and green grass and a long strand of black irrigation pipe topping the outfield fence. They had lights for darkness and a concession stand for hunger. They had gloves and balls and an umpire who couldn’t find the first strike zone on any of the three adjoining fields. What else did they need?

Fans had two sets of aluminum bleachers in the sun and an outfield lined with beautiful oaks for shade. They had the weather the national chamber of commerce orders when holding the chamber of commerce convention. It was a beautiful day for everyone.

Also, we saw the rare 1-3-2 double play. Ground ball to the pitcher, he threw out the baserunner at first. The first baseman noticed the runner at third sneaking home. He fed the catcher who chased the runner back up the line until he stumbled and was tagged out. That is a rally-killing double play, friends.