America could learn a lot from the youth baseball bleachers
Jul 22, 2025, 5:02 AM
Our youth baseball season just wrapped up yesterday, at least locally.
My son Sam’s 12U team played their hearts out in Everett this weekend, and in less than 48 hours, we’re packing up and heading to Cooperstown, New York, the baseball holy land, for a big national tournament and summer camp.
He’s beyond excited. I’m packing sunscreen, ibuprofen, all the portable chargers, and a deep, quiet hope that no one schedules an 8 a.m. game.
I’ll be spending even more time with the same group of families I’ve been sitting next to all season: cheering through rain, sunburns, and questionable umpire calls.
And after months of games, Gatorade, and forgotten gloves, I’ve come to a conclusion. Hear me out.
The way to fix the divide in America … is for every adult in America to pick a random youth sports team and get irrationally, emotionally, unreasonably invested.
I’m serious. You don’t even need to have a kid. I am talking full commitment. Memorize the lineup. Bring your own sunflower seeds.
Just find a group of middle schoolers in mismatched jerseys and yell things like “Good eye!” and “Way to battle!” like your country depends on it. Because maybe it does.
On my son’s team, one parent is all in on MAGA. Cut off Trump shirt. Loud voice. Sunburned shoulders.
Another parent once took issue with something I said on-air about Tesla owners being perceived as more conservative lately, “I’ll have you know, I’m a liberal,” he said.
And yet, there they all were: high-fiving after a close play at the plate and tag-teaming to hand out post-game cupcakes like they had been allies for years.
Nobody’s yelling about the electoral college. We’re yelling “Run it out!” to a kid who just tripped over first base.
It is a strange little world, and it works. It works because we are all there for the same reason. We want the kids to try hard, have fun, and remember to wear a cup. That is the agenda.
Imagine applying that energy to real life. Instead of arguing on Facebook about the fate of the nation, maybe just argue about who’s on snack duty.
You learn a lot in those bleachers. Like how to root for someone else’s kid. How to cheer when a kid who struck out last game finally makes contact. How to hold your tongue when the ump calls your kid out on a pitch that was closer to Spanaway than the strike zone.
It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous.
But also … maybe it’s not. Because cheering on a kid who is not yours feels surprisingly good.
And what if we tried that in the real world? What if we encouraged a coworker we disagree with? What if we applauded a stranger who did something decent?
What if we stood on the sidelines and shouted “You’ve got this” to someone we did not vote for?
That is what we do in youth baseball.
We cheer for the effort. We cheer for growth. We cheer for kids we barely know.
And somehow, in our tiny corner of the world, it works.
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