George took his son, Brett, to the Hartsville little league tryouts He was worried about him. He’d bought him a new baseball glove, a ball and a bat just a week ago. Brett had never shown interest in baseball before. Now, at nine years old, he suddenly decided he wanted to play on the town’s little league team.

George had played ball as a kid, including little league. He’d been relegated to right field on every little league team he’d played for, mostly as a reserve in case one of the regulars couldn’t make it to a game. He also played in pickup games on the ball field just half a block from his house. Playing catch with Brett reminded him of those hot summer days and the fun he’d had. Even when it was hard to find enough guys, he was still the last to be picked when the boys chose sides.

During the week before tryouts, he hit a lot of ground balls and pop flies to Brett, most of which the kid couldn’t handle. By the day of the tryouts, though, George thought he was proficient enough to make the team, probably as a reserve.

The two coaches, Mr. Cable and Mr. Stanley, were very serious about the game and the way it was played. They did a lot of yelling as each boy (and three girls) took turns at bat and tried their hands at various positions in the field. Hartsville was a small town, so it was likely, considering how many kids attended the tryouts, that every child would make the team. That meant there would be eighteen kids. Since the league only required that every child play at least one inning, some kids would ride the bench most of the season.

Clearly, Brett was destined to be one of those kids. He managed to hit the ball just once that day, a weak roller back to the pitcher. Some of the kids were quite advanced at the plate. It was obvious that they had enough good players to win a lot of games. In the field, Coach Stanley started Brett off in right field and never switched him to other positions the way he did the other kids. It was as if he knew at first sight that Brett didn’t have the tools to play the game. George wondered if the coaches had taken a look at him and thought, “Like father, like son.”

At the end of the tryout, the coaches gathered the kids in a circle around the pitcher’s mound. “Everybody did a good job out there, today, “Mr. Cable said. “I liked the way you all hustled. Now, listen up. You all made the team. Some of you probably won’t get to play much this year. You’ll have to wear your uniform to every game, though, and sit on the bench and root for your team.” He hesitated for a moment. “Everybody will get to play at least an inning, so you’ll play in the field and get to bat at least once. Them’s the rules.”

He took off his ballcap and scratched his balding head. “If any of you don’t want to sit in the heat on a Saturday afternoon and think you can find better things to do, I don’t blame you. Our next practice is Monday night at six. If you don’t show up, we’ll just assume you decided not to play. Got it?”

The kids all nodded and headed to the spot near home plate where drinks and fruit bars were waiting. On the way home George asked Brett if he still wanted to play. “Yeah, Dad. There’s a lot of cool kids on the team.”

“You might not get much playing time,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah. I think I’ll get to play a lot, actually.”

There wasn’t much George could say to that. He congratulated Brett on making the team.

At practice on Monday night, it became readily apparent that Mr. Cable’s speech had the effect he was hoping for. Five kids had changed their minds. The team was down to thirteen players. Brett was sent out to right field, of course and several balls were soon hit his way. He managed to catch one ball on two hops. The others, he had to chase. He got a turn at bat too. That didn’t go much better, although he did hit a nice ground ball to the third baseman.

At some point, George noticed the coaches looking toward him. The looks on their faces weren’t encouraging, but neither of them said anything to him. Hartsville played its first game that Saturday. As required, Brett played one inning. He struck out. In the field, no balls were hit in his direction.

After the second game Coach Stanley approached George. “Your boy is a good kid, but he doesn’t seem too interested. He was picking up blades of grass and inspecting them out there tonight. I wonder if it’s safe. I mean, he could get hurt, you know?” It didn’t help that he struck out again with runners on second and third. His team lost the game.

George smiled and said, “I’ll tell you what. If my son decides he doesn’t want to play, we’ll let you know.” The coach walked away mumbling something.

On the way home, Brett said, “I struck out again, Dad. I need more batting practice. Will you pitch to me?”

“Of course, son.”     

Brett looked at his father closely. “I know I’m not good at baseball, but can I tell you something?”

He tugged the bill of his son’s ballcap. “Fire away.”

“I don’t care about playing that much, but Timmy, the kid who always sits next to me on the bench? He asked me to be his friend.”

“Are you his friend?”

“Yeah.” He offered a shy smile. “We both like the girl who plays third base.”  

George knew better than to laugh. “We’ll get some batting practice tomorrow.” He tugged the bill of his son’s ballcap again.