A story about the relationship between Red Sox Kevin Millar and his mother reminded me of my favorite Little League moment with my Mom.
I was 11 or 12. I was pitching. I was not a good pitcher. I was an All-Star caliber catcher in Little League, but I was never a decent pitcher. I did throw a no-hitter once, against the Yankees (heh). To this day, I can't explain it, and I never came close to pitching that well again.
Anyway, I was pitching, and not doing well. I had already hit two batters in the inning. Little League rules dictate that if you hit 3 you are done pitching for the day. I threw a pitch that went way inside and the kid swung, taking the full force of the ball on his knuckles. He dropped the bat and started screaming like a banshee.
At this point, his mother (I'm not making this up!) jumps up on the backstop, screaming at me for hurting her precious child, demanding that I be removed from the game immediately. My mother either pulled her off the backstop or shouted her down, I don't remember exactly. What I do remember is what my Mom said to her, "Your kid is not hurt seriously, he is just a sissy."
While this is going on, I'm arguing with the umpire that since the batter took a full swing and made no attempt to avoid the ball, it should be a foul ball and not a hit batter. I lost that argument, and my day on the mound was over.
BTW, if I had been the one beaned and was crying, my mother would have been the first one to call me sissy for crying on the field.
Like Tom Hanks said, "There is no crying in baseball."