Without question, baseball is the preferred sport of the Cropp family. We watch it almost nightly from April through October thanks in large part to the Comcast Network. Comcast's presence in the State College market has saved me from the dreaded fate of most sports fans in central PA - a life watching (and then likely routing for) those teams from the "other" side of the state. That's how it was when I was a Penn State student in both the early and then late 90s.
I am certainly happy that my kids won't suffer that same fate.
Because we enjoy the sport so much, I was thrilled when Matt decided last winter to give baseball a try this spring.
Matt got hit not once, but twice, in his first little league game and that left him struggling at the plate for much of the season, his timing just a little off. Over the last three weeks though, his swing improved dramatically and he started getting hits. His confidence soared, and with it, his desire to keep playing after the season was over.
Time and time again, the coaches told us the best thing to do for Matt to improve his game was to get him playing as much as possible. So we signed up for extended season - an extra two weeks at the start of summer. We also let him try out for the summer tournament team, not because we expected he would make it, but because we thought the experience of trying out would be good for him and give him the motivation he'd need to work hard over the next year so that he might make the team next summer. To our surprise, little league decided to field three teams instead of two, and I've now become one of those moms I swore I would never be.
Tournament ball is a big commitment. Several practices each week, tournaments most weekends through July. It's one of those things I've feared as a parent... that I'd become one of those people who loads the family into the car each weekend, dropping hundreds of dollars on entry fees, transportation, hotels and meals out, all so my kids could pursue their athletic dreams.
But now that I am in the midst of it, I can't imagine making another choice. It's been such great fun to watch Matt's skills develop. He's got a pretty good sense of how to run the bases from all those summer nights watching the Phillies play. I've watched him watch those high fly balls until he's sure they aren't caught before he runs (while teammates often get tagged out because they don't get back to base in time when the ball is actually caught for an out). He's getting pretty good about knowing when he needs to cover a base even from the outfield; he's getting more and more grounders in his glove rather than watching them roll between his legs and he's one of the few kids on his team who will get the ball out of his hands as soon as it gets into them.
And quite honestly - it's fun to see him dream about a professional career even though we all know it's a LONG, LONG shot at best. My cousin Mike works for the Phils and has told me that he can get Matt an agent when the time comes... how cool would it be if we could really call him on that someday?
Here's one of my favorite conversations with Matt from not long ago:
Matt: I just know I am going to play professional baseball some day.
Me: That would be great, Matt. (Because if he does, I sure won't have to worry about what has been happening to my 401K lately.)
Matt: Mommy, will I have to sign a contract if I play for the Phillies?
Me: I think any team you might play for would ask you to sign a contract.
Matt: How old do I have to be before I can play?
Me: Well, that depends. Some kids get drafted out of high school and some get drafted while they are in college or after they've graduated. So probably between 18 and 22.
Matt: I think I will wait until I am 22.
Me: (thinking to myself - that's great... you'll graduate from college first!!!)
Matt: Mommy, will you still be alive when I am 22?
That's my boy. Nothing like a little dose of mortality to get me and my baseball dreams back down to earth.
In the meantime, I am planning to spend my summer nights and weekends at the ballfield cheering for my little guy.
And maybe some time in the back yard throwing grounders his way. Who knows... with a little luck and some good medical care, maybe I'll still be around when the kid is 22.
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