Friday night lights
They had their one night game of the season, my son’s Little League team. The game is always fun; each player gets to pick their own song (Sawyer chose Jump Around by House of Pain) which plays while they’re at bat, and an announcer talks about the kids favorite food (orange chicken), Major League player (Albert Pujols), video game (Call of Duty).
This is the last level where the games don’t count. The kids just started pitching and only get four – if the batter doesn’t get on or strike out, then the coach comes in and throws three more pitches.
We were surprised to see the scoreboard was on and the runs were going up and we would have a winner. In Sawyer’s previous game, he’d only gotten one at-bat and his best friend struck him out. He cried in the dugout, sure he’d never figure out what pitches he should swing at, as they’d used a machine to pitch up until then.
Friday night, he struck out again his first time up. He lunged at the ball, his feet weren’t set, I could tell he was nervous.
While he sat in the dugout during the defensive half of an inning because there are 11 kids on the team, I snuck in and told him to take his time, set his feet and he’d be fine.
His next at-bat? He knocked a single down the first base line. The smile on his face was lit from within. He’d done it. He was standing on first and he simply glowed.
It was awesome.
His team won, 7-2.
And after, they watched their balloons soar into the night. Little kids being little kids.