Don't Do that!

"Don't do that!"

"Don't do that, please!"

"Don't take this away; these kids are having fun!"

The coach for the opposing team pleaded with the umpire.

Last Saturday, with bases loaded up, a kid on the other team popped one over the fence in left field.

The whole place erupted.

The boys rushed out of the dugout.

The batter rounded third and headed home, where he and the rest of the players all celebrated.

Everyone was cheering, even our boys, despite the score being much closer with the added runs.

But then, as the other team started back toward their dugout, the umpire yelled.

"HE'S OUT!"

Suddenly the cheering stopped.

The park was quiet.

"The runner never touched the plate. He's out."

Man, talk about disappointment!

That was a tough call, and I've been wrestling with it since.

I still don't know if that was the right call to make, but I'm more convinced than ever that youth sports is out of control.

My son, who's 11, has been playing baseball for four years. Early on, it was all in good fun. He had a couple of practices each week and a game on the weekend.

Nowadays, he's in the All-star League, where things are pretty damn serious.

Too serious, if you ask me.

You guys might remember his first year when I refused to buy him a fancy-pants baseball bag because his stuff fit just fine in an old book bag.

Well, those days are over.

When Sam shows up to the field now, he carries two fancy bags and about $1,500 worth of gloves, bats, pads, and other gear.

He has practice at least four times per week and, at times, is on two teams at once, and then has practice or a game every day.

And for each of those teams, he wears a full-on professional uniform. For the All-star team, he even has a practice uniform.

It's nothing like back in my day when our uniform was a t-shirt, we all shared one or two wooden bats that the coach brought to the field, and half of us didn't even wear cleats.

It's not like that at all.

This weekend, Sam has four games.

Four games!

That leaves essentially zero time for anything else. It's baseball, baseball, baseball, baseball, and more baseball.

Now don't get me wrong here. A good bit of the time, the kids are having fun.

Yet there are times when they are just stressed and anxious. Crying, kicking the dirt, and throwing bats or helmets to the ground are commonplace.

At those times, I can't help but think that the adults who set up and maintain this system have let it get out of control.

By the book, that runner was out.

He was damn close to home plate, but didn't touch it.

On the one hand, rules are rules, and I'm usually a proponent of kids learning early on that can be pretty damn hard at times.

But on the other hand, I wonder what the long-term effect of treating a bunch of 11-year-old boys as if they are major-league players will be?

And I wonder, too, whatever happened to kids just having fun playing baseball.?