The passing of the Super Bowl has traditionally signified the beginning of baseball season. February marks the beginning of the Little League in California, and spring training for Major League Baseball begins next week.
It’s no surprise that I wound up playing baseball. I have two brothers with whom I am very close in age, and a father who has spent his whole life ardently loving the Chicago Cubs. My dad traveled a lot when I was little, but when he was home, he would wake me up in the morning by singing the song “It’s a Beautiful Day for a Ball Game.” I used to go to lots of baseball games, and I dreamed of someday being on the field and hearing thousands of fans cheer for me. It didn’t matter that there were no women in the Major Leagues; I remember confidently telling my mother I would be the first girl ever in the MLB.
Of course, fate had other plans. I was gifted with a staggering lack of hand-eye coordination, and I was definitely one of the worst players to ever grace the Tiburon Peninsula Little League. My batting average was close to .000, and any hits I got were usually off the other team’s errors. But I was fortunate enough to play under some of the greatest coaches, who were way too nice to ever let me know that I was awful, and I had some great teammates who never made fun of me for being terrible or even for being a girl.
The older I became, the less people understood why I played baseball. There were many girls who played tee-ball in kindergarten, but the numbers dwindled after that. I was almost always the only girl on the field. It didn’t bother me like it bothered others; at the time, most of my friends were boys, and I considered being a girl to be an advantage. I gloated when everyone else had to start wearing an athletic cup, a piece of equipment that seemed uncomfortable, and I always had a special end-of-the-season trophy, because mine had a player with a ponytail. But teachers and other parents gave me disapproving looks when I told them I played baseball, not softball. Some girls at school teased me for acting like a boy. I didn’t care. I figured I would show everyone when I became the first girl in the Major Leagues.
Sometimes I wish I had been better at baseball for the sheer purpose of proving that girls could play baseball too – just because I was bad doesn’t mean that every girl is. In 1931, 17-year-old Jackie Mitchell pitched against the New York Yankees in an exhibition game while playing for a minor league team, striking out Yankees greats Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. More recently, women such as Tiffany Brooks and Ida Borders have played in independent professional leagues.
But with one exception, the greatest contribution I ever made to Little League was quitting. My interests gradually turned to the pool, where I learned that I actually wasn’t a terrible athlete, I was just terrible at baseball, and I left Little League after my third grade season to spend more time with the swim team.
Yet I remember that exception now, years later. I was always placed way back in the outfield, because most little kids are unable to hit that far, so I wouldn’t have to do much. But lo and behold, one day, a fly ball came right to me. I remember the moment clearly – time seemed to slow as I carefully positioned my glove the way I had been told to do it in practice that week, and I still remember the satisfying thump the ball made as it connected with my glove. There was a stunned silence from the crowd. None of the parents, or any of the coaches, or any of my teammates, could believe that I had just done something good. In my third grade mind, I was too ecstatic over the “amazing” play I had just made to notice. But even then, I recognized the deafening roar of the crowd that came seconds later, and just for a minute, I felt like one of the Major-Leaguers I idolized.
Over time, my love for baseball faded as I became a dedicated competitive swimmer. I stopped watching games on TV, and I no longer wanted to be the first girl in the MLB. But when I drive by Strawberry Field now and catch a glimpse of a Little League game, I’m immediately taken back to the dugout and how happy I was to play. I still know all the words to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” and I still have the game ball I won after making that glorious catch.
I hope every little kid has as positive an experience playing youth sports as I did, and I hope that people’s genders don’t stop them from doing what they want. If you’re a girl who wants to play a “boy’s sport” or a boy who wants to play a “girl’s sport,” or a girl who wants to do something people tell you is for boys or a boy who wants to do something people tell you is for girls, your gender shouldn’t stop you. There’s nothing inherently masculine or feminine about certain sports. Playing baseball didn’t make me a boy, or a lesbian, or mean that I would never be able to communicate with girls or do girly things – for one, I was the only player on the team to coordinate her hair ribbons with the team colors. Not only was playing baseball fun and rewarding, but the experience taught me to not be limited by gender standards or the opinions of others.
Baseball’s Opening Day this year will be held on March 31. I wonder how many more Opening Days will pass before a woman steps out onto the field, not to sing the national anthem or present an award, but to play.
