2002-05-06-11:39 p.m.

What is it about baseball?

I've never been much of an athlete. I was in the band and the choir. I never played sports in school. When I had to sit in the stands during football games I wished I had a book so I could read until the halftime show. We'd march and then I'd sit there until the end wishing I had a book again.

But there's something about baseball...

Maybe it's the way baseball gloves smell. Or the way the ball smacks in your hand when you catch it. Maybe it's the metallic ping of the bat when you whack the ball, the satisfying way the impact jars you up to your elbows. Whatever it is it puts a spell on me every year.

It starts at the first practice. I secretly want to coach my son's team. I want to be the one who is patient and knowledgable, the one who finally gets the message across to a bunch of boys about teamwork, that magic baseball word. I want to place the ball to every different position so everyone gets a chance to practice his fielding. I want to be the one to point to the shy boy and say, you're pitching, and watch his face light up.

But I am a woman. A mom. My son would freak out if I volunteered to help coach. I don't think he even likes it very much when I chase stray balls at practice and throw them back "like a girl." Oh, how I wish I could throw a baseball.

I never feel this way about basketball or soccer. Those games I am content to watch. I don't even know all the rules and am not that keen to learn them. But baseball is just different. There are so many different skills in baseball you almost have to be good at something. If you can't hit, maybe you're a great catcher. Or if you're a slow runner, maybe you never strike out. Everybody's good at something.

I really like the way that in baseball you have to think a lot. Tonight one of the boys on Daniel's team hit a grounder right to the third baseman who picked it up easily. But he wasn't sure what to do with it. The runner on third didn't have to run, but he led off a little to keep the third baseman's attention on him. Meanwhile the guy on first made it to second and the guy who hit the "bad" hit made it to first - all because the runner on third messed with the other guy's mind a little. I just love that.

I'm small and Daniel's uniform pants are a size or two too big. I wonder if I could squeeze myself into them and stuff my hair under his cap. His glove's nicely broken in. I want to play so bad I could just die.

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