The Relief Pitcher's Mother

Is the one I feel sorry for. Every time. Yes, it can be hard to be the batter's mother, especially when there are two outs and the bases are loaded and you have to watch him go down on a called strike. That can sting for a while, especially if you're sitting with your team, among the parents of the stranded runners. And yes, I'm sure it's hard sometimes to be the first baseman's mother, and the catcher's mother must have some aches and pains by the time the game is over—but the relief pitcher's mother, man oh man, that's a totally different level.

All of them, any of them, great and small. I feel sorry for Mariano Rivera's mother, wherever she may be, even though I trained in Boston and settled near Boston and dutifully hate the Yankees. And I feel sorry for Trevor Hoffman's mother, if she was watching when he blew the save in the ninth inning of the 2006 All-Star game. When she saw him give up that hit, and then the next two, and lose the game, after he'd been right there, two outs, and two strikes on the next batter, do you think his mother thought, oh well, what the heck, he's still a Hall of Fame closer? I mean, he was, of course, but that's not what she was thinking, not right there and then.

My kid doesn't pitch at all, starting or relief. Never has. But here's what I imagine: you sit there, watching to see if your son will get to play. And of course you have to want your son to get to play, that's only human, cause what's the point of watching the whole damn game if all you see is other people's kids swinging bats and making catches and throwing people out and stealing bases? But when you're the relief pitcher's mother, you know that your son will only come in when the game is on the line. Maybe the starter got tired as he got toward the end of his pitch count, and maybe he loaded the bases. Oh, yes, you might tell yourself, even if those runs score, they won't be charged to the relief pitcher—but the truth is, every other person watching the game will think it is the relief pitcher's fault. Blown save. Or on the other side, how about when the starter has pitched brilliantly, no runs given up at all, or one run given up, and you know that if your kid blows it, and the other team scores, people will shake their heads and think about how his teammate really had his stuff today, how he held them inning after inning, and then, wouldn't you know, along comes the relief pitcher and everything goes to hell.

Here's the thing I am ashamed of: when I go to my son's Little League games, and I am sitting in the bleachers with all the other mothers and fathers from his team, I act like I have something to prove. I do, I act like it's a big deal that I even made it to this game, because I am so busy and so important. I mean, lots of the parents are in and out of praying mantis posture, checking their phones every couple of minutes, especially when their kids are not at bat, but they don't talk about it. What I mean is, okay, they aren't paying attention to the game, but neither are they showing off.

I didn't used to do this, I don't think. I used to come and sit in the bleachers with my husband, Jake, and Jake was better than I was, always, at knowing the names of the other parents, and who belonged to which kid, so I would follow his lead. When he said to someone, wow, that was a great catch Dennis made, I would know that must be...