I live for T-ball.
A ball is hit past the third baseman and into very shallow left field, right along the extended third baseline. The third baseman runs over and hops on third base and puts up his glove. The left fielder, who is playing out about two counties over, runs in and picks up the ball. Holding the ball against his chest, he drops his glover and starts to run in towards third base … past third base… straight for home still holding the ball against his chest.
Finally the batter runner rounds third and makes it home, all the while, the left fielder is standing in front of the plate.
Just as the base runner is about three feet in front of the plate, the left fielder “flips” the baseball softly to the base runner, who, catches the ball, stomps the plate with a sneaker imprint and skips towards a bench with players jumping up and down. As the left fielder watches, SHE takes off her helmet, her pigtails go down to her shoulders and she smiles at the left fielder still standing in front of home plate.
Ok, a few plays later - game over and everyone heads to the ice cream truck. There waiting for the left fielder, next in line, is the base runner and her dad, who turns to the little guy and asks … do you want jimmies (sprinkles) with that double scooper?
The summer is just starting around here and I could care less about competitive ball - it’s T-ball for me from here on out!