On Saturday, the manager of my 8-year old son’s baseball travel team asked me if I would help out and keep score of the game (on the team’s scorecard). It was no problem and a pleasure to help out. And, it was the first time that I was able to be in the dugout with this team.
Sadly, the game was a mismatch for my son’s team. Their opponent had some kids who were very good. And, it seemed like every time they had runners on, the batter on their team would smoke the ball and/or they would hit it to one of the lesser skilled defensive players.
Also, the other team’s pitcher was on the money – and our team was going three up and three down too often.
At the end of three innings, we were down, seven-zip. And, to anyone paying attention, it seemed worse than that.
Everyone so often, one of the kids on our team would ask me “What’s the score?” or “How many outs are there?” And, it was no problem to tell them.
After five innings, they were losing, ten to three. And, one of the kids asked me for the score. After that, as we were batting in the top of the sixth, I saw three of our kids huddled up in the dugout, having this conversation:
Player 1: What’s the score?
Player 2: It’s ten to three.
Player 3: Really? Who’s winning?
Gosh, it must be great to be eight or nine years old and have an absolutely clear head, huh?