Watching this week as the internet tried to brand the Davenport, Iowa, Little League team as a bunch of racists, during what should have been one of the happiest times of their lives, I was reminded of something my late father used to say about youth sports, “It’s the adults who ruin it all.”
My dad pretty much had a Ph.D. on the subject, coaching basketball at our Catholic grammar school, and officiating football from the Pop Warner level to Division II college. He ran the local program to teach football officials, and for more than 20 years, he stood on the sideline, watching his own three children play basketball, baseball, soccer and football.
Of course, my father was talking about a small percentage of the grown-ups, but when they do it, they do it up big. Poor behavior on the playing field by people who are old enough to know better has become a national epidemic. We’ve seen so many videos of parents brawling at their kids’ games that it should be its own sanctioned sport.
Back in the spring, there was a rash of violence against youth referees, with one Mississippi softball ump getting punched in the eye by a player’s parent wearing a “mother of the year” T-shirt. There are tales of parents pushing their children to the point of burnout and more extreme, horrific cases like Aqib Talib’s brother murdering the youth football coach in Texas.
Many of these shameful incidents occur from the sideline — presumably done by people who have a stake in that child’s life. However, the most recent example of adults ruining youth sports came in the most 2022 way possible: from absolute strangers on Twitter.
Last Sunday, ESPN was broadcasting their MLB Little League Classic at Bowman Field in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, where the Orioles were playing the Red Sox and the Little League teams participating in the tournament of champions attended.
Earlier in the day, these 12-year-olds were able to interact with their MLB heroes, get autographs and slide with them, down the iconic hill near Lamade Stadium in South Williamsport.
It was boyhood joy in action.
By that evening, however, the Davenport team of 12-year-olds — Midwest champs for 2022 — would be unwittingly cast as racial oppressors in a saga that went far beyond baseball.
During the game, the ESPN cameras showed a few white kids from the Iowa squad putting stuffing from a plush animal in the hair of their teammate, Jeremiah Grise, who is black.
With little-to-no context, social media erupted, essentially accusing the boys of being baby Grand Wizards and subjecting their black teammate to racial humiliation, using cotton as their weapon.
“History is literally repeating itself, and not the good kind, either,” said one Twitter user. Op-eds followed and some mused that this is why black kids don’t want to play baseball. Little League was forced to make a statement.
“We have spoken with the player’s mother and the coaches, who have assured us that there was no ill-intent behind the action shown during the broadcast,” it said.
That wasn’t enough to put out the fire. In its coverage, the Washington Post spoke to — surprise! — a total stranger, named Carolyn Hinds, who is a film critic in Toronto, Canada. The interview was about how the footage made her feel, as she also questioned the Iowa team’s parenting.
Did anyone, at any time, consider Grise’s actual feelings in the matter?
I had been in South Williamsport covering Massapequa Coast’s Little League run, so when someone brought it up to me on Tuesday morning, I had no clue what had occurred. On the ground, it was all baseball, team bonding, pin trading and dance-offs with Dugout, the mascot.
Like Covington Catholic, this was another race scandal manufactured on iPhones miles away and exported through social media to many willing consumers.
Later, more footage emerged, revealing the incident as innocent as kids tossing a ball around the sandlot. Both black and white teammates used the plush stuffing on their heads to imitate Jaron Lancaster, the dominant pitcher from Honolulu who has a very striking white-dyed mohawk. Lancaster with his bat, arm and hairstyle had emerged as the big man on campus and the Iowa boys had just gotten his autograph. Davenport Little League posted its own explanation, showing Grise reveling in the moment.
I understand race is a third rail that will get someone like me zapped on impact. But it felt pretty gross for strangers to tell a 12-year-old boy, that they don’t know, to feel bad about something because of the color of his skin. In doing so, they projected their own cynicism onto him unfairly, making him bear the weight of their personal grievances.
And they cast an ugly, divisive narrative on what was supposed to be a beautiful experience on the national stage.
After a fuller picture crystalized, there was nary a peep from the foaming mouths. Likely, some didn’t want to admit they had jumped to the worst possible conclusion.
While most, who had no skin in the game, had already moved on to the next event in their oppression olympics with little regard for the boys or the innocence they trounced over.