Beanie Babies Play Baseball
Even without the talents of Babe Ruth or Barry Bonds, there were occasional home runs amongst my daughter’s over 100 Beanie Baby friends
I came into my daughter Eleni’s playroom on the second floor, adjacent to her bedroom, to deliver lunch — a peanut butter sandwich, string cheese, a fruit medley and chocolate milk (which was the only way to make milk palatable to her).
I looked around the perimeter of her playroom at the creative arrangements Eleni had made with her Beanie Babies. Two competing baseball teams had been formed — the Oakland A’s along one wall and the San Francisco Giants on an opposing wall.
Eleni wore many hats — team captain(s), referee, and sportscaster. As each player approached the plate, I saw not Casey at the bat, but a mottled crew of baseball wannabes.
Beanie Babies were the brainchild of Ty Inc., between 1996 and 2000. Each animal, bird, or reptile could be identified by a red and white “birth certificate” which included their date of birth, a clever and fitting name, and a limerick about their nature or nuances. The collector “value” was to be achieved only if you kept the name tag intact, which we did for the most part.
My husband and I used Beanie Babies as rewards or reinforcement for positive behavior. By the end of Eleni’s acquisitions, she had amassed over 100 Beanie babies, which she merged with her other toys, big and small.
Each team had nine players, but no team managers or “dugouts.” For the sake of brevity, I will only recount some of the notable players — Gulp the pelican, and Pouch the Kangaroo, were both catchers. Hissy the snake, and Smoochie the frog, were pivotal as pitchers, while Hippety the rabbit, Stilts the flamingo, Early the robin, and Stink the skunk played various short stop or outfield positions.
In lieu of bleachers for seating, I sat quietly on Eleni’s round, periwinkle bedroom carpet to watch the game progress.
Eleni positioned one team in their assigned spots, and called to the other, one at a time for “batter up.” She crafted the pitcher’s moves and kept track of balls, strikes, and hits.
Eleni devised bases by using green colored coasters at first, second, third, and home. The player at bat held a toothbrush while the pitcher delivered a white ping pong ball to the batter up.
Even without the talents of Babe Ruth, Barry Bonds, or Lou Gehrig, there were occasional home runs. The scoreboard was not illuminated or fancy, but rather a piece of computer paper taped to the back of a chair. Eleni changed the score manually by adding tally marks to each team as appropriate.
I crept away quietly to prepare dinner.
When I returned two hours later, Eleni’s lunch plate was bare, and the scoreboard indicated an A’s victory — 11 to 10 over the Giants. I hugged her and gave her a broad smile, as she systematically returned all the team members into the rainbow-colored toy crate.
At the conclusion of Eleni’s baseball game, I looked lovingly at her and said quietly, “I really enjoyed watching your game and hope that you and the Beanie Babies have enjoyed your game too!”
In days, months, and years to come, I reflected on this Beanie Baby scene often, feeling grateful that my daughter demonstrated a keen sense of creativity and appreciation for creating such a delightful playtime activity.
“It is a happy talent to know how to play.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Eleni is also a writer on Medium. You can read her writing here.
