When I was 10 years old, my widowed mother thought I should try out for little league. I liked baseball, after all. Being from Connecticut and just 60 miles from New York City, I was a Yankees fan. I knew every player’s stats and had a crush on Joe Pepitone.
So I hiked to a local park for tryouts. Having no real experience, I, along with other newbies, was relegated to the outfield. While the infield boys were going through their paces, we whiled away the time sitting in a dandelion patch that spanned the entire outfield. I began picking the yellow blossoms and weaving their long stems into the webbing of the glove I borrowed from my older brother.
Then it was our turn. We stood up and awaited our fate. The coach began hitting balls. The kid to my left went running after a ball he missed. Then, with another crack of the bat I watched a ball arch up heading right towards me. I nervously followed its trajectory as it got closer and closer. “What if it hits me?” I thought. Instinctively I shoved my gloved hand into the air, over my head, and heard that familiar thud of leather on leather. Miraculously, I had caught the ball.
But, looking up in that moment of impact, I watched as dozens of dandelions exploded into the air, forming a great golden starburst, like a Fourth of July firework. They fluttered down in slow motion to the ground around me. There was silence, then laughter. I wasn’t embarrassed. I was more amazed at the glorious display I had inadvertently created. Needless to say, despite my splendid catch, I didn’t make the team. “Try again next year,” my mom encouraged. But, I didn’t. I never told her the story of the dandelions.
Decades later, I joined SSBL (Saturday Softball Beer League), Milwaukee’s gay softball organization. It was then I discovered my latent jock and a joy for the sport. Maybe it was just an innate affinity, but I was decent for a recreational player. I even played in the gay softball world series in San Diego. Like most teams, ours matched “Gilligan’s Island” for diversity. We had a professor (actually two), a barista and an ex-Marine, among other sundry personalities from crazed gay to chain-smoking lesbian (she’d light up when we were up to bat and inevitably never finish, snuffing out the butt before hitting the field and repeated the process next time). We were multilingual, straight and gay, young and old (me). I started at first base, a position I liked but, over the years, eventually our manager moved me to second, to third and finally he had me catching.
This year SSBL celebrates its 40th season! Established in 1977, Milwaukee’s SSBL, along with four other city leagues, created the North American Gay Amateur Athletic Alliance (NAGAAA). It has since hosted the Gay Softball World Series three times, the last in 2009. Recipient of the PrideFest Medal for Achievement, SSBL remains an exemplary asset in Milwaukee’s LGBT community. Congratulations and thanks to all those who make it possible! Play ball!
