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It’s springtime, little league season is underway and all of us parents are watching the game from the bleachers. We’re outwardly pleasant to one another, but under the surface, the competitive vibe is everywhere, for surely we’ve sized up and categorized each other based on our disposition in this little town; instead of Wheelies, Gimps and Flippers, it’s Geeks, Hoity-Toities and Townies. So we sit, powerless, for we’re too old to jump out on the field and relive our own childhood.

But perhaps there is another way; yes of course – we can show each other by pitting our offspring against one another on the little league field! I’ll show that loud mouth behind me; if his kid’s on the other team, then we’ll whoop ‘em but good. If his kid’s on the same team as mine then I’ll get my kid private batting lessons so he’ll be higher than his in the batting order. And if that doesn’t work, I can always take the coach out to lunch at Hooters, or take him fishing, or get him tickets to a Red Sox or Yankees game. Or maybe just volunteer to become the coach’s assistant and be assured that my kid will either pitch or play first base – or wherever the hell I want him to play. Where there’s a will, there’s a way…

Of course; most Jock Dads have nothing but the purest intentions. Perhaps I stand apart from this baseball ruckus because I cannot get as physically involved as the typical able-bodied dad. I defer to Josh and Ben’s real dad, who’s quite capable of fulfilling the role of sports trainer on the field where I’m not. Still, I find myself needing in some way to explain this fascinating, myopic compulsion that takes hold of some parents during little league season, and thus began my own obsession with their obsession.

A few weeks ago, I decided to actually brush up on that perplexing in-field fly rule. So I took a break at work, and googled “Little League In-Field Fly Rule.” Wow, 200,000 hits. I tried clicking through, but the firewall blocked them all.

Then it dawned on me that these sites are so thoroughly filtered by our firewall because they must generate a huge volume of traffic. Fly balls weren’t just a local thing; this obsession was a global one, so big it was effectively shielded from each and every employee of my company. Ironically, it was probably easier to surf porn from our work PCs than little league.

What I found even more alarming was the discovery a few weeks later that farm league coaches of other teams were lurking in the background during some of our team’s early season practices. Not just one, but several, hanging back, Rasputin-like, studying our team. One of them was even writing notes on a little pad.

Perhaps the standard has changed since I played little league; maybe coaches strive a little more to be the best they can be, to work tirelessly to hand their crew at least a few good wins. Maybe this intensity is all just a by-product of their own online fantasy baseball leagues (the firewall folks haven’t caught on there yet, but they will…); perhaps because of that, the thin line of reality is blurred, and as far as they’re concerned, these kids are the Major Leagues. But maybe I’m giving these spying coaches too much of the benefit of doubt. I’ll bet more than one of them is harboring the sordid fantasy that no one dare ever admit: that they will be the one who runs away with this year’s Town Little League Championship!

Of course, who among us hasn’t at least once thought about how grand it would be to raise a professional athlete. As I watch Josh and Ben’s growing enthusiasm for the sports they play, I can’t help but wonder, which one could go pro? It would certainly help with college tuition. But I remind myself to draw the line between encouraging and pushing. It’s Josh and Ben’s desires that count, not mine. And not that dad shouting behind me in the stands, or that fat-cat who bought his kid’s position in the batting order.

I just have to make sure my own bellowing from the sidelines doesn’t drown out what it is my boys are really trying to tell me.

(This is an excerpt from "They Call Me Wheels", a memoir by Geoffrey E. Matesky, NOW AVAILABLE from iUniverse, Amazon.com, & Barnes & Noble (bn.com). If you are a bookseller and wish to obtain copies, please contact the sales department of my publisher, iUniverse.com for more details.)