I was sitting at Charlie’s Little League game yesterday, thinking that we might get some ice cream if the game ended early enough, when I suddenly remembered something from my childhood:
When I was playing Little League baseball, you only went for ice cream if you won the game.
As a boy, this made sense to me.
To the victor go the spoils. Winning is rewarded. Champions receive trophies.
But just imagine what might happen if the Little League coaches of today decided that only the winning team of each game would be rewarded with an ice cream cone.
I think parents might lose their minds.
I’m not sure how I feel about this.
As a boy, I know this made perfect sense to me. I remember how exciting it was to pull out of the parking lot, waving my orange cap outside an open car window, knowing that I would be devouring victory ice cream soon.
I always wanted to win the game, but the ice cream was truly the cherry on top.
And I remember losing, too. Heading home absent any frosty reward, thinking that next time, we needed to win so I could get my ice cream cone.
Winners celebrated with frosty treats. Loser got nothing.
This all made sense to me. There were no tears. No pleading. No upset feelings. I think I would’ve been embarrassed to show up at the ice cream shack if my team hadn’t won the game.
The ice cream shack was a place for winners.
But today? I don’t know.
Charlie is playing in a developmental league right now. Coaches are pitching much of the game, and instruction takes place throughout the game. Runs are scored, but the number of runs scored doesn’t matter. Even the kids aren’t keeping track yet. But assuming that Charlie continues playing next year, he will eventually find himself in baseball games where box scores are kept and winners and losers are ultimately determined.
How I would I feel if only the winning team drove off for ice cream after each game?
I’m not sure. Honestly, I think it makes sense to me, but I’m writing while Charlie is asleep in his bed. I’m not faced with a downtrodden boy and his disappointment over his team’s failure to score more runs than his opponent. I’m not battling the notion that he tried his best, so perhaps effort should be rewarded, too.
Maybe I would crack. Maybe Charlie would get ice cream, too. I’m not sure.
But here is the one thing I know for sure:
I’m glad my parents and my coaches didn’t crack. I’m glad I only received ice cream if my team won. It made the victories that much sweeter. And it made sense to me.
