Little League Mama

This year's Little League season has found JT spending a good deal of time behind the plate, wearing a catcher's mask and mitt.  He's thrilled to be in this position and spends hours of his free time practicing to catch the ball and generally fantasizing about that perfect ESPN moment, where he makes the last-minute catch and tags the runner just in time to preserve his team's playoff hopes…….

In pursuit of that goal, I've practiced with him and we've reviewed the rules.  JT knows that the catcher must own home plate and protect the ball.  He's not afraid to be knocked over by the runner (though at this level of Little League, running into the catcher is not permitted).  He understands the need to give the pitcher encouragement.  He knows he's got to keep his wits about him when things get exciting.  The need for snap judgments doesn't frighten him.  He's as ready as a ten year old can be.

 At last Sunday's game, it all came together.  As the ball flew JT's way, he stood right on home plate, caught the ball, tagged the runner, and then fell to the ground (the runner kept on running), still in possession of the ball.  The umpire behind the plate called the runner safe.  In that moment it was like another person occupied my body.  I flew out of my chair, shouting, "he was out, he was out."  Before I could scale the fence and shake the home plate umpire into getting a clue, the umpire near first base intervened and announced that the runner was out.  The batter had never left the box, the runner tackled the catcher after being tagged out……….he didn't cite the matter of the deranged mother behind the fence, fiercely shaking the chain link and frothing at the mouth, but that may have simply been an act of diplomacy.

Or fear.

Either way, your average soccer mom has nothing on me.