Nine will become Ten this week, and in celebration of his birthday I thought I’d tell you about baseball.

I don’t remember enjoying Thirteen’s nine/ten year in baseball as much as I’m getting a kick out of Nine’s, and the reasons for that are two-fold.  One, with your older child, you’re so utzy about everything: “Did you see that hit!  Should we sign him up for the Minnesota Twins training camp or feel out interest in the National League?”  “But wait, did you see THAT hit?  Should we let him finish the game or just drive the car straight out into the middle of the field right this second so we can get him into another activity because he clearly has no future in baseball?”  By the time the second kid rolls around, however, it’s much more like, “Why isn’t he wearing baseball pants?  Does he need baseball pants?  He seems like he’s doing fine in pajamas.”

Two, Thirteen is big.  His teammates are big.  Not only in size, but in maturity.  The same little fellas who used to cry if they struck out now lean against the dugout fence adjusting the crotch of their pants and spitting sunflower seed shells into gas station cups.  The other day, I dropped Thirteen off at practice and grabbed a bottle of water from the concession stand on my way out of the gates.  The bottle’s cap had been melded in place by lava or something similar and so I was struggling with it when Thirteen’s teammate walked up, took it from me, and – while I stood in the hulking shadow of a kid whose shoelaces I double-knotted not that many summers ago – opened it with nary a word nor an ounce of effort.  The realization that these monkey nine- and ten-year-olds will turn into monster teenagers without warning has made me all the more appreciative that I still have one set of shoelaces left to double knot.

Nine’s team is called the Seawolves.  The Seawolves are one of a pack of other teams named after collegiate and Minor League teams, such as the Scrappers and the Rubber Ducks, and the most important thing to know about these names is that a large number of the kids cannot remember the team on which they play.

“Which team are you on, buddy?”  I asked one of Nine’s friends who had made his way to our field.

“I’m a Scorpion,” the boy said after a solid ten-second beat.

“I’m a Scorpion, too!”  Nine said.  “No, wait, I’m a Seawolf.  No, wait.”  He thought for a moment.  “Yeah, a Seawolf.”

For the Seawolves, Scorpions, and the like, this is the first year in which the kids pitch during the baseball games.  Pitching is hard enough for 45-year-old mothers who can’t open their own water bottles, let alone a fourth-grader who is being asked to stand on a pitching mound and throw wayyy far away to an area roughly the size of their bike tire.  As such, the vast majority of the pitches are, ahem, a bit wild.  And, since they are nine, as you know, it’s not only the pitches that are wild; just about every throw is a real crap shoot as to whether or not it hits its target.  And, again, nine-year-olds – so even if the throws make it to their intended recipients, the chances of said recipient catching it are around 50:1.

Earlier this week, Nine stepped up to the plate.  The first pitch went too far to the right, the second hit Nine smack dab on the side of the helmet.

“I’m okay!”  He yelled to no one and everyone, swinging around to give me a thumbs up.  He took first base.

The next batter hit the ball about ten feet into the infield.  The pitcher grabbed the ball and threw it to second as Nine stepped on the plate – and when the second baseman failed to catch the ball, Nine headed on over to third.  By now all of the little Silver Soxes or Aces or whatever were wayyy over-excited that the ball was still live, and so the ball was overthrown at third, which gave Nine a chance to run home and score (home plate was also overthrown, in case you were wondering).

“You used your head two times in that play!”  I called to him as he jump-cheered his way back to the dugout.

From what I’ve seen, coaching this age is 75% tactical and practical skills and 25% saying things like, “Stop digging in the dirt” and “Hey, let’s cheer on our teammates” when the dugout has stopped paying attention and is instead singing “Apt.” and “Lava Chicken” at the top of their lungs.

Nine played second base last week.  He ran out of the dugout and stood directly on top of the base.

“Hey, bud,” the coach yelled to him.  “Take eight steps to the left.”

Nine complied, and looked towards the base.

“That’s a long way back to second!”  He yelled back.

“Well, you don’t play ON second base, you play AROUND second base,” his coach clarified.

Nine seemed skeptical until the first batter up, who hit a ball which went exactly to where Nine was standing.  He grabbed it and overthrew it to first, after which the first baseman overthrew it third, who overthrew home.

“Good stop,” the coach yelled to Nine after the play was over.  “Good stop, and then everything fell apart.”

Even if everything consistently falls apart each week (which it does), everyone has fun – fun and Icee pops, which the concession stand sells by the fistful.

“I like baseball,” Nine said as he ate his purple Icee.

“Yep, you have a very good team,” I told him.  “Everyone is nice and works very hard.”

“I’ll probably be a baseball player when I grow up,” Nine said.

“Oh, really?”  I asked him.  “I thought you wanted to be a dentist.”

“I think I’d rather be a baseball player,” he said.  “I’m better at it.”

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The photo above was taken during a baseball game. I had just gotten a pedicure and so was getting my money’s worth by taking as many pictures as possible of my feet.

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This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Melissa Markegard, my Nice Person of the Week, as well a great spot for food competitions and flag retirement ceremonies alike. (Valley News Live)

There’s a new tree on North Dakota’s Register of Champion Trees. (Minot Daily News)

Mercer’s Shauntaye Kopecky is recovering from a traumatic brain injury with the help of her baby girl. (KFYR TV)

It’s a nice hot week for a Law Enforcement Torch Run in support of North Dakota Special Olympics. (KFYR TV)

Grand Forks’ Chuck Haga was the first person to interview me about North Dakota Nice.  Such a great guy. (Grand Forks Herald)

I’ve been thinking about the best way to mention this without sounding like the braggiest of the braggy, but there’s no way around it.  I got an awesome award last week.  Here’s an article about it, and here’s another article about it. (Minot Daily News) (Grand Forks Herald)

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