They Are The Definition Of Cute

We often go over the things in this space that seem wrong with the world, well, at least in one man’s opinion. This week, please allow me to share a little bit about what’s right.

Not too long ago, I had the distinct pleasure of watching two of our grandpups play in their first T-ball game.

Let me ‘fess up to start with. I’m about as biased as biased can be on this. Not only do I love my grandpups, but there is no sport in the world quite like baseball. Poems have been written about the greenest of green grasses that make up the field, about the brilliant blue skies overhead, the satisfying pop of ball into leather glove and the crisp crack of the wooden bat when it connects perfectly with a pitch.

This game had none of that.

Well, OK, the grass was green and the sky blue. But that was about it.

Didn’t matter.

I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of cute in your Funk & Wagnall, these kids would be there. For example, when the game ended the coaches tried to line up these 4- and 5-year-olds so they could shake hands or high five the other team. Yeah, right. These little guys and gals had no clue. Half of them put their left hand up in the air, palm outward and then walked by as the other team passed on their right.

If you’re a baseball purist, you might not recognize the field. There are dots chalked into the infield and outfield. The dots represent zones, and when the team takes the field, each kid stands on a dot . . . sometimes even after the ball is hit. At other times, they might run to that same dot instead of first base after they hit the ball.

Innings did not consist of outs – thank goodness or otherwise we might still be there. Rather, every kid got to bat, and run the bases . . . sort of. When the ball was whacked off the tee, it was anyone’s guess if six kids were going to dive for it, completely ignore it or, in a couple of instances, the batter fielded the ball and gave back to the coach.

For a little while, there wasn’t inflation or gas prices or Democrats or Republicans. Just a bunch of little boys and girls of all sizes, shapes and colors, getting along, playing a game that dates back to the 1800s. They weren’t staring at a screen – grass or butterflies maybe, but not screens. They were laughing, yawning, interested, distracted and all the things pre-schoolers do over the course of an hour. For a little while, just a little while, all was right with the world.

Two cents, which is about how much Timmons said his columns are worth, appears periodically on Wednesdays in The Paper. Timmons is the publisher of The Paper and can be contacted at [email protected].