500: dead or alive

Starting today we are no longer spending our Saturdays outside town at the infamous T-ball games. This is bitter sweet. Mostly sweet. 

Mainly because it takes an hour to drive there and we nearly always realize we've forgotten a crucial T-ball component (mitt, hat, shoes, patience) somewhere along the drive. 

Eliot had another great season. Her team had a perfect record.

Manufactured Self Esteem:10
Realistic Competition: 0

Next year it turns from LARP-ing to a real sport when they start enforcing outs and keeping score.

It's hard to say who is more excited for next years rules. Up until her last practice she didn't even know either runs or outs existed.

With these two key components missing I can only imagine how inane she believed this favorite American pastime turned role play was. 'Wait, this is my heritage? Where do I turn in my passport?'

 Basically her team just played like it was 500: Dead or Alive. You know, that game your parents played with you when they didn't really want to be around you. "Hey kid, I'm going to throw this ball as far as I can, and if you go get it I'll give you, let's say, 100 points."

Every time a ball was hit the entire team would chase after it and dog pile on top of each other.  Five minutes later the victor would emerge from the carnage triumphantly holding the ball and, eventually, after much persuading by the coach, throw it to first.

Meanwhile the other team's members had each advanced one base and waited patiently for the coach to find another ball so they could continue the absurd role play that is American kids T-ball.

 No matter how many practices they had focused solely on staying in their own positions or how many times their coach told them not to chase after a ball on the other side of the field--500 dead or alive lived on.

Eliot was one of the most active 500: Dead or Alive chasers I'm not sure whether or not I'm proud to admit this.

Actually I am proud.

Most her team was full of boys who expressed dismay at having to have girls on their team. I loved seeing her excited to beat someone to the ball. Even if that someone was her team mate. I understand team work is a concept we will have to master before next year.

 During the last practice we played kids against parents with runs and outs. To Eliot this was mind blowing. It actually made it into, dare I say, a real game.

As soon as she understood the concept of an "out" her eyes lit up. She laughed maniacally while chasing after me, trying to get me out. All the kids ran and played harder than ever.

After her last game was over I asked her if she wanted to play next year and she answered no without pausing to think. Then I explained how the game would change to include outs and runs. Her eyes lit up and she excitedly answered, "Yes. I would like to play with these new rules."

 Thanks, kid on the other team for letting us borrow your mitt. I promise it wont happen for more than 50% of the games next year.

 Our other kids did love playing at the playground. Which would really be better closer to the fields. Luckily I can still keep and eye on them with my long distance lens.

Also, there is no limit to the amount of paper cups a one year old can destroy in a mere thirty seconds.


Why do we do this? Besides that I actually find it fairly entertaining?

I have found while living abroad we go to great lengths to manufacture a small part of an American childhood for our kids. I'm not sure whether it is wanting them to have shared experiences from our childhoods. Or an attempt to show them the great heritage that have as Americans, engendering a love of the country they have not lived in for the majority of their lives in and may not have even been born in.

Maybe a combination of both. But maybe we're just self-masticating parents with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning.

Either way, until next year, baseball.