Please Unorganize the Games!

Have you ever been in a store that has a bin of large, cheap rubber-like balls for sale? The kind meant for small children to bounce or kick. Everyone has seen these before – a colorful, marble pattern on a ball that is not perfectly round and will be flat and useless shortly after purchase.

They remind me of a time when smaller, baseball-sized rubber balls were sold and always in great demand. They were covered with a thin, slippery layer of white paint that would crack or peel off once being used. Eventually, the ball would chip, split, or wind up on a roof and the hope was that someone would have an extra one because the store might not.

The rubber ball was used for a game we called strikeout, though some called it fast-pitch. It was played against a wall and the strike zone was spray painted years earlier by the older guys and each era touched it up. All you needed was a bat and a ball and it seemed like everyone played this somewhere.

However, I never see this anymore. Lots of kids are playing, but it’s all organized. Coaches, moms, and dads. Aunts and Grandmas. Mini vans. Certainly, there is a place for this. But where are the kids doing this for fun?

If today’s drone could fly over my neighborhood in the mid-seventies on a decent day, it would see at least one game of strikeout, plus a group of kids at Rowan Park having a game of lob league. The fenced parking lot at Washington Elementary School would host street hockey and a touch football or softball game would be seen on the gravel, as we called it, just beyond their playground. A game of tackle football could be viewed on the lawn of Washington High School, with its front parking lot busy with a game of lob (with a rubber ball). If the drone ventured a few blocks northeast the same would be happening in the Annunciata church parking lot. The clanging sound of a basketball hitting the rim at the park could be heard from my front door.

There were other games, loosely based on a sport or a combination of them, but not the kind found on ESPN. Running bases, bounce and fly, 500, kill the guy with the ball, varsity, tips, and 21, just to name a few.

No lack of games. No whistles. No water bottles. No adult saying what to do.

The kids figured it out. There would be yelling and arguing and once in a while there was a fight. Everyone watched while the two went at it and then took a break. Usually, the brawlers were friends again before going home. No one got in trouble. No cops were called.

Teams were picked in various, but thoughtful ways. In baseball, one guy tossed a bat to another and the two would work their hands up the barrel. Last hand to fit before the knob got first pick. Unless you could fit a finger or two in, but then the other guy could try to kick it out of your chicken claw grip. Sometimes, captain one got the first pick, but the other captain got the next two. Sound logic there. In football, you had to correctly feel the lines, laces, or wide-open spaces of the ball on your back to get the first pick. Or if there were two decent quarterbacks, they had to be on separate teams. Same with the two tallest basketball players or the two best hockey players. This reasoning made sense to all.

There was more rationale. If it looked like the game was getting serious, it could be locked, meaning no one else could play (hooray!). So, if the really good kid was visiting grandma and showed up late, no one could claim him. Another rule called for football’s fourth down “kick or try?”, and to prevent surprises you had to stick to your promise of either going for the first down or punting. To make it official, the defense had to “check, check, double check” the decision of the offense. Additionally, to give the quarterback time to throw, the defensive linemen often had to count to “5 Mississippi, or count 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, etc.”. In baseball, “pitcher’s hand” was used instead of first base if there weren’t enough players to have a full infield, as was a hit to right field resulting in an out if it was closed. This led to some heated debates as there was never a clear line to show where center field ended, and right field began. However, it got resolved and the game went on.

There were no referees and no spectators and if asked back then, that’s the way we wanted it. There was a great deal of organization, just not in an official way. After all, no matter what game is being played, there must be order or chaos would ruin it. The difference then, though, was that we simply figured it out on our own. There were many unwritten rules, and they were followed even though there was no one to enforce them. This made it imperative that everyone had to agree what they were, though they were never really discussed at any great length. That was the beauty of it. Kids followed rules for the greater good, without having to be told by an authority figure, for a meaningless game. We learned a great lesson, without realizing it.

The crowded parks, parking lots, and fields full of kids competing, not in uniform or under a watchful eye are vanishing and that’s a shame. There is so much to be learned and so much fun to be had, and it sure beats sitting in the house and playing video games.

This column originally appeared in the Times, a Shaw publication.