Saturday, July 27, 2013

A Different Kind of Ballgame

             We went to see the Chicago Bandits professional softball team last night.  You might call it interesting.

            The Bandits play in a stadium close to O’Hare Airport; for the out-of-town fans, being directly under a flight path was nearly as exciting as the action on the field.  The crowd numbered somewhere in the mid-hundreds, mostly softball players ages 10-16 along with dad-coaches.  Fathers dream of daughters playing pro ball, daughters wonder how it happens.  I should have warned everyone about the pitfalls of Division I college recruiting.

            This is the third home for the Bandits; like the other two, it features metal grandstand construction.  That may be part of the problem.  If softball wants to thrive on this level, it needs to feel permanent, along the lines of brick walls, a roof over the stands and, dare I say, an upper deck.  A little of that baseball architecture would have spiced up those three homers the Bandits and NY/NJ Comets hit.  At Comiskey Park, mammoth shots were either “in the upper tank” or “roof shots.”  Softball fields need that kind of personality. 

            They also need more teams; the league only has four.  Compare that to the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, which fielded as many as ten teams a season.  In addition, the AAGPBL had P.K. Wrigley to help bankroll it early on.  Alas, none of the One Percent today seems interested in taking on that role.  No obscene profit in softball, I guess.  So, the National Pro Fastpitch League soldiers on with owners watching every penny and players needing to hold down outside jobs because the pay is so low.  Even in the dark ages before Marvin Miller, baseball players earned enough in-season to make ends meet.   

            Clare prowled the stadium as a Bandits’ intern.  Lately, she’s been given emcee duties, which puts her on the field with a microphone.  Now, if she could just trade it for a bat and the chance to play.

            In the end, I’m just like any other dad-coach.  

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