Little League mess puts focus on responsibility of right and wrong
In the visitors’ clubhouse, which seems to have borrowed its architectural elements from a school bus, Curtis Granderson was dressed in the yellow of Jackie Robinson West. He’d swiveled his chair toward the rear of the room, where a TV hung from the ceiling. Those kids from Chicago were up there, dressed in yellow, too, winning again, and Granderson was just going to be late for stretch if that meant seeing them through to the final out.
He cheered and others in the room did, too, because there was something cool about what was going on in that little ballpark, and there was something cool, too, about this adult being so far away and still wrapped up in it.
I’ve never watched much. Perhaps because I was 12 years old once, or because I raised two sons who spent some time as 12-year-olds (and on Little League fields), the idea of putting the Little League World Series on national television always seemed – I don’t know – intrusive. The first kid to have his lower lip go soft, I’m done. The first shot of a parent dressed ankles to forehead in team colors, nope, I’ll edge the lawn.
And, yet, I loved that Granderson loved it, that he supported that team in heart and wallet. And I loved what the players of Jackie Robinson West stood – and stand – for. Good for them. Good for Chicago. And good for Granderson. Good for all of us.
Now, a lot’s happened since. A lot’s been said and written about the actions of the grownups whose job it is to love and guide those kids, along with the grownups who made money and reputations off those kids, and the grownups who maybe felt much better about themselves because of how many baseball games were won by those kids.
So, Jackie Robinson West has been stripped of its national title, the grownups are entertaining television cameras, and the only good that’s come of it is consensus the innocent parties here are the ones who wore the uniforms. On the field. Between the lines. They remain champions, with or without the swag.
Little League International made the call. If the allegations are true, and let’s assume for the moment they are, then it made the proper call. Maybe not in the timeliest manner. And there’s plenty of reason to wonder why issues of boundaries and eligibility aren’t sorted through long before the buses leave for Williamsport, Pa. They weren’t. And there’s reason to wonder what was in it for Little League International. And yet here we are. Little League failed these kids and, by appearances, the grownups in the neighborhood failed these kids.
But now that we know – or think we know – what we know, the very worst bit of parenting or role-modeling would be to pretend it didn’t happen. Yes, those kids were jobbed. So tell them why. Tell them that as desperately as they wanted to win baseball games on tiny baseball diamonds because it was fun, the people who drove them to those tiny baseball diamonds wanted it more than they did.
It wasn’t mean-spirited, probably. It wasn’t evil. It was just wrong. So it’s time for the grownups to sit in front of the children and tell them why their trophies and medals stand not for the final score, but for the journey to the final score. They played together, they played well, they had a good time, they had Curtis Granderson jumping up and down in a big-league clubhouse, and that’ll have to be enough. It’s how life goes sometimes, even when you’re 12. And the grownups, rather than fight and scream at the injustice of it, might consider saying they are sorry. Not to us. But to the 12-year-olds.
You see, there are consequences for our decisions. There’s the lesson for the day. It sucks. It’s not fair. Must be Friday.
Those boys? They are who we thought they were last summer. They are strong, bright and inspiring. They are, in our hearts and hopefully in their own, champions. Maybe, given the chance, they would have won no matter how the lines were drawn, or redrawn, or undrawn. Maybe.
And you know what they deserve now? For how hard they worked and how well they played and for all they represented?
The truth.
Not outrage. Not legalese. Not rationalizations.
The truth.
And an apology.
I watched on television this week as a brave young man in a yellow jersey stepped to a microphone and expressed his disappointment. It was so terribly sad. The moment his lower lip went soft, I was done.