#princessrapbattle

SO … DAMN … CLOSE.

I could hear the excited gasp from everyone in the stands when the metallic thunk of the aluminum bat sent the ball sailing into the darkness like a giant yellow day glow comet on a reverse course toward destiny. The batter, who looked old and strong enough to be a forklift operator despite supposedly being only 11 years old, strutted around the bases, knowing she’d hit a home run.

Though, in her defense, given that it’s kid-pitch softball, I’ve seen bunts turn into triples, and since she hit this ball like she was Mark McGwire jacked up on Creatin, there was probably no need to rush.

But she didn’t count on Jellybean being.

It was the kind of moment that only parents of little league outfielders can appreciate. Since early March, Jellybean has spent hours during practice and 25 games waiting in the down-and-ready position, but that ball never comes.

Sometimes, I think the coaches even forget she and the other outfielders are even there. They become like lawn furniture as they hit endless grounders and pop flies to the infielders – generally the best players (AKA the Coaches Kids) – while my little princess feels the grass grow beneath her feet. Then they shout something like, “Look alive …” and wonder why the kids have the loafing reaction time of a Walking Dead zombie.

And in truth, the only actual game action the outfielders get comes from backing up the back-up and by the point the play’s pretty much over.

But not on this night, not with this batter.

It was the last game, in what’s been a long and frustrating season for our Flames. We weren’t very good, a reality made all the worse by the fact that we really should have been. We were the last seed in the tournament, down 13-7 to the dreaded, and seriously hated, Peaches. After four days of torrential rain – and three straight days of game cancellations – it was hot and muggy and gross, and everyone from the parents in the stands to the kids swatting mosquitoes in the field just wanted it all to be over.

Then Andrea the Giant stepped up to the plate and sent a moon shot hurtling toward my child, who, as always, was in the down-and-ready position.  It was like a dream come true. When the ball left the bat, I left my seat. In that frozen moment, I remembered the hours we spent in the back yard, listening to Princess Rap Battles and tossing pop flies. Jellybean had gotten so good.

She held her glove right. She moved her feet. She kept her eye on the ball. She blocked out everything going on around her. One time, she caught 13 flies in a row, and I’m not talking easy ones either. I mean, I reared back like I was throwing a haymaker at God, and she shagged it with a flip of her hair and gleam in her eye (after I got smart enough to buy her sunglasses before she went blind from starting into the sun).

It was all about to pay off. She felt it too, running forward when all her fellow outfielders would have run the other way in terror. Jellybean WANTED the spotlight, the pressure. Sure the game was a blowout, but I could already hear the roar of the crowd and see her teammates running out to give her high-fives and maybe even hoist her on their shoulders and carry her off the field.

It would be a glorious triumph for every kid who’s every been spent more time applying bug spray and sunscreen than actually … ya … know … feeling like a part of the team. From here, Jellybean would be catapult to a position that didn’t require visiting grandparents to say, “now where is she? Oh, way out there.”

Down. Down. Down. The ball came, fire trailing behind as it re-entered Earth’s atmosphere. Other parents stood up for a better look. Bam-Bam shucked off his headphones and ignored the Shrek movie he was watching to see what all the excitement was about.

The entire stadium fell silent as Jellybean extended her glove while still running forward. It was so still, so quiet that I heard the gentle scratch of leather as the ball skipped off the tip of her glove and fell dead to the ground.

Disbelief and disappoint spread through the stands, like the seconds right after the fireworks have ended and the sky is still filled with smoke. It would have been the perfect ending. But instead, the Behemoth in a pink batter’s helmet ran around the bases as Jellybean picked up the ball and hit the relay throw to second.

I wanted to cry, to scream the unfairness to the heavens, but I had to be strong for my little girl, whom I knew would be devastated as the game and season were over.

After the obligatory “good game” handshakes and the “I’m so proud of you … never gave up … fought right up to the end …” speeches from the coaches, I hugged my little ballplayer, ready to offer words of wisdom, experience, encouragement, and, most of all love. She, in turn, looked up to me with those big blue eyes and said:

“Can we get a Frostie?”

So brave. So brave.

‘So Done’

When the game was over, I wasn’t exactly sad. Jellybean was downright elated.

It had been a long, season. The weather had gone from freezing to that kind of sticky hot that seems to fester around ball field. The Flames were the epitome of the “always played hard” but fell short in the win column.

I knew I’d grow to miss it all more than I do now. Jellybean vows she’s “so done” with softball. She promises we’ll keep tossing the ball around from time to time, but I know better. Pretty soon dance recitals will take the place of backyard pop flies, and that makes me sad. Softball was something we could do together. I could toss her grounders, show her how to watch the ball into her glove. It was something we could bond over. I cannot dance … unless the white boy prom sway is an actual dance move.

What I’ll miss most is how softball brought our weird little broken family together. Two or three days a week, we’d get to hang out a couple of hours and just enjoy each other’s company. It was like a family reunion but only with the family members you actually like.

She so little, and cute

Jase tries not to sleep, fails

The Diva, a great mom

Grandma gets some baby time.

All of Jellybean’s scattered grandparents made it to multiple games, but best of all was the visits with The Diva and her brood. Sure, I usually had to drive all the way to Phenix City then back to Midland to pick ‘em up, but were it not for those trips, I’d never have known that 2-year old Bam-Bam knows every word to the Scooby-Doo theme song.

After picking our spots right by the fence so we could sit in the shade and still see Jellybean in the outfield, I’d get Bam-Bam set up with his toys – brought over from my house. There was Han Solo and Chewbacca, a Hulk bobble head, the Xenomorph from Alien and a tiny key chain figure of GhostFace from the Scream movies, which he called, “Stabby” – all carried in a battered old KISS lunchbox along with some almonds.

Bam-Bam has loves KISS

Heeeer’s Stabby

Booty-Head the dinosaur

Once the game started, he’d climb up in my lap and using Jellybean’s iPad, watch episodes of Boss Baby or PJ Mask while trying not to fall asleep.

On the other side, The Lovely Mother of My Children, always dressed in scrubs after rushing to the field from the hospital, would sit by The Diva and just talk. Things haven’t always been great between those two over the last few years, but during those games, things were pretty good, and I’d like to think some of those good vibes carried over after the game.

But with her newest bundle of beautiful still not at the sitting-up phase, The Diva wants all the help and advice she can get, while her momma can’t help but love the baby, even if she still worries about her own child.

There are still problems and there always will be, but for a little while at least they don’t matter much. It’s just nice being together, being happy, and cheering. And even if there’s not another “next year,” at least we had this one.

But maybe … just maybe Jellybean will change her mind. I’d sure like to see her get another chance to catch a pop fly.

Snow White & The Seven Years... On this day in 2014, we released the first Princess Rap Battle, now at 244 million YouTube views. I thought it'd be funny to write a musical face-off between an OG porcelain princess and a cool motherf'ing queen. Guess I was right. Thanks for watching!

MANY talented people were integral to this production team (and often to future episodes of the ongoing series as well) -- plus Katja Glieson as a flawless Elsa, of course! Full series credits: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4079084/