The Little League World Series

Let me make this clear. I hate baseball.

A Dodger game that goes past 8 PM is basically 3 tablets of Melatonin and a cup of warm milk. The culture is antiquated, the pace is slow, and the pitchers are fat. It’s the sport only an Uncle could love. But if you don’t appreciate the Little League World Series, I don’t know how you can call yourself an American.

Because someone always cries.


Does enjoying that make me an asshole? Sure, but there is nothing more entertaining than a bunch of twelve year-olds desperately vying for their fathers’ respect. That is raw emotion. You think those kids are doing it for the love of the game? How about the love of avoiding an ass-whooping for striking out to a juiced-up Korean kid.

And that’s half of the fun, isn’t it? Sitting back with a cold-one, watching a six-foot “preteen” with five o’clock shadow play shortstop? Seriously, some of the mustaches the coaches push onto that field make Danny Almonte wipe away a single tear of proud joy.

“Screw it. We need a closer.”

If you hate the LLWS, you hate the zenith of Americana. It combines the two pastimes this nation cut its teeth on: baseball and exploiting the youth. Everyone can relate.

And let’s be honest, we all (to some degree) long for the simpler days of childhood. The unfiltered emotion poured onto the field by these children resonates with the national conscious enough to televise it on ESPN. It sparks a nostalgia for a time when passion was blinding. When the end of the game was the end of the world and it was acceptable to throw pine-cones, pull pigtails, and cry over spilled milk.

(Well, If Madison Baumgarner is a “role-model,” then acting like a child is acceptable behavior in the majors, too.)

Who wants to watch the MLB any way? Pro baseball is a snooze-fest because it is so polished. Ground balls are routine and pop-flies are basically a gimme. Meanwhile in Williamsport, those preteen bastards can’t make a throw to first-base half the time.

Anything can happen! Next thing ya know, five runs score and I am irate screaming at the Petaluma Little League All-Stars ’cause they just cost me $20.

“It’s OK, kid. You’re just dead to me.”

So, why should you care about the LLWS?

Didn’t you hear me? Some kid always cries. Are you just going to let that little wuss cry over nothing?