Take Me Out of This Ball Game

Little girls’ t-ball is pretty cute.  Except when Number 4 is involved.  Then it’s more like embarrassing.

Thank goodness it’s over.

Yesterday they played a 3-inning game.  The head of the softball league was there announcing each girl’s name over the microphone, making them all feel pretty special.

The coaches pitched the ball to the girls.  They were giving them as many pitches as they needed until they got a hit.  Usually if a girl hasn’t gotten a hit after about 10 pitches, then they’ll bring out the tee.  Since this was the last game, I think they were trying to avoid that, so some girls got a lot of pitches.

One little girl on the other team was having a particularly hard time at bat.  It was the last inning, so Number 4 had already surpassed the limit for her ability to stay focused.  She was drifting in and out of paying attention to what was going on.

“Is this girl seriously still hitting?” she yelled.

“Number 4!”  She looked over at me.  I gave her the mom glare.

Another strike.

“Come oooooonnnnn!” yelled Number 4.

I didn’t know what to do.  Should I yell at her again?  Maybe I should just pretend I didn’t hear that one…

Another strike.

Please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything.

“WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET THE TEE FOR THIS GIRL???” she screamed.

“NUMBER 4!!!!”

She looked over at me.

And stuck her tongue out.

I wanted to run out onto the field and rip that thing right out of her mouth.  I was mortified.

In the midst of all this, the mom of one of Number 4’s friends was telling me how her family was going camping, just for one night, after the game was over.

“We’d love for Number 4 to come with us. Then Carrie would have someone to play with, and she and her brother wouldn’t be at each other’s throats.”

Apparently she hadn’t been paying attention to the game.  Or maybe she had, and she just wanted to take Number 4 and drop her off somewhere in the woods.

I can’t say I blame her…