Nevada County Picayune and Gurdon Times Newspaper Archive

Picayunish with Ricky Ragsdale, Publisher

"Take me out to the ball game . . . " has already been sung by my family, as we attended the home opening game of the Arkansas Travelers in Little Rock a few weeks ago. We sing it several times a year with the advent of spring and during the heat of sweltering summer games played by the St. Louis farm club in our capital city.

Baseball (and softball) season has finally arrived in Nevada County and all seems right with the world. What seems right to me, is the innocence of our youth as they take the field to play a game that requires some skill and a great amount of sweat and heart.

It fills me with pride to watch not only my son, but his teammates and classmates run eagerly onto the field in hopes of actually touching the baseball and making the throw to put a runner out; or even getting into the batter's box and connecting with the ball and getting on base, and possibly even scoring a run for their beloved team.

Little League baseball is what life is all about to an 11-year-old and that makes life right and precious to a parent.

Beginning in February, I started humming baseball songs to myself and eagerly looked forward to the coming season as much (if not more) than my son.

"Put me in coach," sings John Fogerty. "I'm ready to play," I sing along with him. "Look at me, in centerfield," we belt out. It's enough to make you roll your vehicle's window down and smile just a little.

Another song that fills the vehicles as I roll along is Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days." "He could throw that fast ball by you," we let loose singing, "Make you look like a fool." The grass looks greener, the skies look brighter, baseball season is here.

Still a third song is "Right Field" by Peter, Paul and Mary. "Playing right field is easy you know, Little League batters don't have batters that pull . . . " "Everything's great in right field, I'm just standing here, watching the dandelions grow." Well maybe this song is just a little embarrassing to sing along with, but it properly describes how it feels to play baseball and what it is to be 11 years old again.

There are other baseball songs of course. And if you ride along with me and hear one coming from a CD or from the radio, I promise to not sing along, but I will smile.

The only time that I don't smile around a baseball game is when I play. Shamefully, I take the field in my son's shoes when he trots into left field. I should smile, he does, especially when he's actually touched the ball or got his bat around on a pitch. He doesn't possess the most talent on the field (and son, neither did I, just ask your grandfather) but he has the innocence that makes the game right and pure. And while he's out there, everything seems right with the world.

Unfortunately this pureness and innocense is lost by instructions that are misunderstood (of which I am guilty), by anger and by words that should not be said to a 11-year-old or even in the hearing of a child.

If you are a parent, thank your child's coach for taking the time to coach not only your son, but the rest of the players. If you are a parent, thank the umpire (as opposed to attacking him) for taking the time to be on the field with these kids. If you are a parent, remember what your mother (or somebody's mother) said . . . "if you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all." After all, this is a game.