Kids' Sports and Other Trauma

Lately, we've been getting a lot of fliers from the kids' school about the various sports teams they can join.  Between you and me,  I get stressed just reading them.  Even as a secure adult who is no longer subjected to excruciating torture of  "picking teams" and communal showers after gym class,  kids' sports  makes me feel all nervous and sweaty inside (yes, not just outside but sweaty inside).  I think this visceral reaction stems back my one ill-fated foray into competitive sports back when I was 9.   [Insert those wavy ripples from 70s TV signifying "dream-sequence" or "going back in time" here.]

When I was 9, I had a friend in my class named Michelle who all the girls admired.  Michelle was a tall, blonde dancer [she even went off to a fancy NYC dance academy after graduating high school].  She was interesting because she was half  Lebanese and could make Tabouli and she was proud of it.  She was smart and knew all about cool stuff like unicorns and greek gods.   She was coordinated and athletic and, despite all that, she was a nice kid.  

Well, Michelle got it in her head that we were going to sign up for Little League that year.  This was the year after the courts forced Little League to admit girls to the teams, so I'm not sure if this was some sort of emerging feminist statement on Michelle's part or if she genuinely thought baseball was fun.  Unlike Michelle, I went through most of my childhood in a state of deep and profound cluelessness, so I knew nothing of feminism or baseball (or fashion or hair styling techniques for that matter), but I knew one thing:  if Michelle was signing up, I was too.

The first set-back that my clueless little brain never saw coming was that when the day came, I really signed up for Little League and Michelle didn't.  She -- or her parents -- had obviously wised up and decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all.   So, I was on my own in the male-dominated Little League world.  Not that it would have made a difference -- with, like, 3 girls in the whole league, the chances of Michelle and I being on the same team were zero.  But that didn't occur to me at the time.  Did I mention the cluelessness thing?

As any semi-sentient being would have predicted,  I was placed on a team with all boys.  Which led to the second problem that my clueless 9 year-old self didn't anticipate:  the boys were good at baseball.  Me?  Um, not so much.  Of course, the boys began playing t-ball at age 4 or so, and by age 9 could hit, catch, spit and scratch -- all the essential baseball skills.  By contrast, I grew up with an older sister playing dolls and our favorite pretend game, "Kitty Cat and Mommy" (and yes, the title pretty accurately described the whole game concept).  Sometimes we roller skated and sometimes we jumped rope, and we even had some little boxing gloves with which we'd  ineffectually try to whallup our dad on occasion,  but I don't recall us ever voluntarily trying to hit a ball with a bat or playing catch.  Tomboys, we were not.

As a result, you will probably not be shocked to learn that I completely and utterly sucked at baseball.  I could not hit that d*mn hard, fast little ball and I'd cringe when someone would throw it at me (or to me, depending on your point of view).  I could not get within 20 feet of a pop fly (in fact, to this day I still can't figure out how you're supposed to guess where it'll land).  The boys wouldn't talk to me or sit next to me on the bench, and, most mortifying of all, the cutest boy in school was on our team.   That's right, Anthony F. -- "the Fizz", an Italian heart-throb along the lines of the then wildly popular Scott Baio, was on my team.  And, I could sense his disdain wafting across the field at me all the way from his position at first base to mine in far, far left field.

Because my brain has mercifully blocked out much of what happened during that season, I'm still not sure why I didn't just quit.  I don't know if it never occurred to me that quitting was an option, or if my parents made me stay with it,  or if it was because my family all seemed so proud that I was on the team or because they loved photographing me in my baggy, hot  flannel uniform.  I swear, there are more humiliating pictures circulating of me in that uniform than all the other photos that were taken of me in my entire childhood combined. 

Just because I value you readers so much, I'll swallow what's left of my pride and share one with you.  Feel free to laugh; laughter is good for the soul.  And, when you're done laughing, then feel free to feel really, really guilty for laughing at such a pathetic, clueless little 9 year old girl and go confess, which is also good for the souls of you heartless child-mocking sinners.

[I don't remember those sneakers at all, by the way, but I still kinda like 'em.] 

Perhaps because they enjoyed seeing me in this goofy get-up so much, my family did try to help me acquire some rudimentary baseball skills.  For example, they bought me a Johnny Bench Batter-Up, which was a ball on a horizontal pole that you would wind up and then try to hit as it swung back around.   This seemed like a good idea until my sister flung the ball at me in a fit of sibling rage one day (totally unrelated to "Kitty Cat and Mommy", I'm sure) and knocked one of my front teeth loose.  Eating baby food for a couple weeks while my tooth healed did not help my 9 year old image and most definitely did not help impress the god-like Fizz.

The end of this Cinderella Story?   Just like in the movies, of course we went on to win the championship of our division.  I'm not making that up, either.  We did win the championship and I did get a trophy, which in some ways I didn't deserve at all (since even with the help of Johnny Bench, I was more hindrance than help to my team) and in some ways, I probably deserved more than any other kid on the team.   I'm not sure which is more true.   What I do know is that I'm not doing this whole kids' sports thing on my own this time.   So, when I ask for advice on kids' sports -- and rest assure that I will be asking very, very soon -- you readers now know that I really, truly do need all the help I can get.   

So, anyone else have any humiliating sports stories they'd like to get off their chest???  Don't abandon me here on my own again . . . .

Comments

[Melissa]

LOL - great story, sorry can't help you with a sporty humiliation story - I'm just too coordinated (yeah right. I'm blocking out memories of choir and dancing concerts right now though.

[Eve]

LOL Gosh your story sounds so like mine!! I am glad to see you blogging again Dawn!!

[LorieM]

nice blog...and love your blog header!

[Barb]

Oh man Dawn. I was a jock growing up, but I remember trying to play fast pitch softball and I totally sucked. My teammates, who were pretty cutthroat (yeah, at ten!) hated me, and the coach did too, because he was all about winning. That was the longest sport season of my life. I never forgot how rotten my teammates treated me either.

[Carjazi]

Wow, thanks for bring up those bad memories that I thought I'd repressed. 1 season of girls softball was bad, but it was the basketball team that about killed us all. We only had 6 on the team so subsitutuions were at a minimum. I don't even know how we made it through the games let alone an entire season.

It's much more fun to sit and watch it all on tv. *big grins*

Great to get a post from you, hope all is well!

[Ellie]

lol - I don't have any stories but I feel for you - I hated sport when I was a kid. Dreaded it at school. I'm determined my kids won't be the same as me tho!

[AfriDigiDiva]

I was the first female wrestler in high school. Coach Medley blushed when he issued equipment. He had to order a two strap singlet and a sports bra. Go figure.

I have pictures, but I'm not nearly as brave as you are!

[Colleen]

Oh goodness, lol. I'm so sorry for laughing. I knew plenty of friends who were like you, but I was definitely a tomboy, lol.

[Lena Brandenburg]

I don't have any good stories for you! My parents didn't stress athletics, but they did let me be a cheerleader when I was 10...that was a shortlived venture...and I played soccer badly in high school...FWIW I think there is a girl like that in everyone's memory (and a boy like the Fizz too!) And I really really love your shoes ;)

[Kresta]

What a great story! No kid sports stories here, my sister and I didn't play sports. We did take ballet for a while and after a number of classes decided we didn't like it. So we continued going, but just faked headaches every week, which allowed us to sit out. Who knows how long we did this before Mom found out!

[Tammy]

OH my gosh. Bless your heart. The only sport I was associated with was bowling and I could compete with some men. But, I mainly stuck with women bowlers.

[beth (20birds)]

I was a complete disaster in sports, and my Dad was this feminist ACLU guy who wanted me to know i could do anything a boy could do...except I was not athletic...*sighs* I did have a major crush on Johnny Bench though... but that doesnt count does it?

[Teresa Victor]

You're a great storyteller, Dawn. :) I can't belive you stuck with it...good for you, builds character, right? LOL Best of luck with deciding on sports for your kids! My dad taught me how to throw a curveball, but that's as far as baseball went for me...all soccer, basketball and tennis. :)

[Donna]

Ah I am in the nightmare of findig a sport for my girl right now. I am told it will 'help' with her social skills. Yikes. But luckily she seems interested. Phew! Now to find it, and work out what time and where it is on and whether we can even make it!!

[Jim]

Rest assured, all of us that played a game, even the Fizz, had moments that we wished we could "do over" on the playing field - see aforementioned comment re: He's Gone Pro and realizing the gravity of your plight when you just made an error at shortstop on a slow grounder that all the players on both teams, and all the parents in the stands knew you should of, and heretofore in the game or season always had, made the play but this time you blew it. Just have to put the ball in the back pocket and go on to the next one. It cost the team a run, who knows if it cost the game or not back then, but I had more than a handful of 'em through the years -I was an All-Star in little league basketball for several years too and one year in particular, after winning a championship at 11, I was on a last place team at 12 - I was the leading scorer (virtually only scorer) on this particular team, in fact, a buddy of mine and former law partner of mine still kids me about all the shooting I did that year. Well, on the opening jump ball of the game, our tall kid tapped the ball over to me, I grabbed it and took off unguarded down the floor for an opening lay-up, 2-0. Problem was, I went the wrong way and put it into their bucket. They were up 2-0. D'oh! Some All-Star. Oh well, I tried to laugh it off amid my scowling teammates and the laughing crowd, at least I made the lay-up. I must have been out drinking with the boys too late the night befo . . . oh, yeah, I was 12, that wasn't it.

And that isn't a bad photo of you in the flannel with the great high stirrups - I remember the flannel duds, great for a summer game, eh? And I remember how impressed we were to go to polyester like some of the big league teams - only a few years later to go back to a good traditional cloth like they did after that miserable failed on-field fashion experiment . . . but I digress. As for the adorable photo of you (and it really is), Hay-ell, most of us guys had hair that long back then too so I'm sure my folks have one or two photos that look virtually i-dentical! Fortunately I think mine were lost in the infamous flood of '97 in my parents' basement. Thank Goodness!