bleechers's Blog

The "Boys" of Summer

When I was a kid there was girl who played baseball in the league for 10-year-olds in my township (PA). She pitched and was pretty good. Of course, no boy wanted to fail or appear inferior to her, but that was only natural. No woman wants to be upstaged by a man in a field generally dominated by women either.

We all marked the game against her team on our schedules and we all wondered if she would pitch. She (Pam) was treated with respect. Even at the age of 10 we could recognize talent and appreciate it. My team won the championship that season, but I would have traded many of our guys for Pam's arm. She could throw strikes with consistency. Not too many boys could say that.

I never questioned her "right" (perhaps too strong a word, but somehow appropriate) to play in our league. I never thought less of her as a girl. I would have been pleased to have her on my team... but I still understood the implications tangled up in a boy's world invaded by a girl.


My Day Had Finally Come

Pam had been playing baseball since we were eight. We didn't have "T-ball" or "Coach pitch" leagues in my day. We did our own pitching. From the first time she stepped on the field, Pam wanted to pitch. We were not on the same team for those first two years of organized ball, but I never had to face Pam. That day didn't come until I was ten.

Pam pitched for the Pirates and I played for the Twins. I played shortstop and batted third. In our first game against the Pirates, Pam did not pitch. In our second game she did not start the game, but she came in relief to face me. We had runners on second and third as I watched Pam warm up. It was at that moment that the reality of facing a "girl" pitcher suddenly dawned on me. Until then, her presence in our league was merely a curious footnote in my season.

Wow, I was about to face a girl pitcher in a moment that mattered! This wasn't just any at-bat; people would note this moment. Other guys in meaningless moments could strike out against Pam and have their K quickly forgotten. I didn't have that luxury. Field 3 in Plymouth Township morphed in my brain into Veterans Stadium (located in nearby Philadelphia) complete with its sixty thousand pairs of critical eyes.

As that odd quiet that accompanies a relief pitcher's warm-up tosses gave way to cheers I sauntered towards the plate spinning my bat alternately with each arm. I'd never done that before, but my usual confidence had been displaced with a weird sort of nervous swagger. I had always been conscious of the game situation when I stepped into the batter's box, but that day I suddenly only cared that "Pam the Girl" was pitching and every eye was on me.


Whew!

I wasn't thinking about the game, I didn't care who was on base. I just wanted to be sure that I succeeded to any degree. I wasted no time and took Pam's first pitched and lined it off the chain-link fence in left field; a double. I stood on second base and let out a huge sigh of relief; the most gender-specific moment of my young life had come and had passed favorably (as I viewed it).

I never wanted to go through that again and I never did. We were done with the Pirates and when the season ended Pam was done with baseball. As most of us moved up to the next level of baseball Pam went on to dominate Plymouth's softball league.

I'm better off for having lived through our encounter on the diamond. Pam taught me that in any field, talent is what matter most. Her desire to push herself was to my profit as well. Even if she hadn't been as good as she was, if she wanted to test her mettle against the boys, as long as her safety wasn't at risk, why shouldn't she have that opportunity? Both boys and girls can learn a lot from another kid wanting to test his or her limits.