Bleacher Bettys
Issue 19
I took my sons to a baseball hitting lesson and stumbled upon a great story.
One of my sons was wearing a Yankees jersey for the lesson, and the coach, John, teased him about wearing something that outrageous in Braves Country. My son explained that he loves the Yankees because his dad loves the Yankees. John relented and said that was fair.
“I love the Braves because my grandmother does. She’s 98 and is still the greatest Braves fan I know.”
His description of her piqued my interest. I’ve always had a sweet spot for senior citizens, and I loved that he attributes his passion for baseball to his grandmother. I asked John to tell me more.
He said she went to the Braves spring training in Florida for years. She still keeps up with the team’s roster, and if you happen to visit her when a game is on, she refuses to turn the volume down on the television. She sounded like a hoot. I had to meet her.
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution gave me the green light on the story, and I met with her, Miss Jane, for a couple hours to talk baseball. She is sharp as a tack and beautiful. She reminds me so much of my beloved grandmother, who I miss dearly.
It was fun to hear Miss Jane’s Braves stories, but what I enjoyed most were her memories of sitting on bleachers over the past five decades, watching her sons and grandson play ball.
She showed me a hat that she brought back from spring training years ago. It is signed by Greg Olson, Bobby Cox, Terry Pendleton, and other well-known Braves. I was surprised to find another name - that of her grandson/my son’s hitting coach - scribbled front and center. I asked why she let him sign the hat, and Miss Jane didn’t hesitate.
“Because I thought he belonged on there. He’s one of my most favorite people, and he’s my baseball friend.”
My eyes got misty behind my blue screen glasses. I wanted to hold her sweet face in my hands, sob, and tell her she’s the most precious little thing in the whole world. I stayed in my seat that moment, but did give her two hugs when I said goodbye.
Miss Jane reminded me of a story I wrote a few years back, “Bleacher Bettys,” all about mamas and the pure love and mania we have for our ball players. Miss Jane, who will turn 99 in July, two days after my birthday, is the quintessential Bleacher Betty, the “OG” or the “G.O.A.T.,” as my kids say.
I dedicate this, the 19th issue of SOUVENIRS, to my friend and all-time favorite Bleacher Betty, Miss Jane.
Bleacher Bettys
Nothing beats watching my sons play baseball. What makes the experience even better are the friends cheering next to me. There we sit, a bunch of Bleacher Bettys, shoulder to shoulder, hollering for the cutest things to happen to baseball pants. We are bedazzled in the latest team flair, rooting for our boys like it’s the World Series.
The emotions on the bleachers are a mixed bag. There are mamas whose chins quiver and hands tremble as they video their boys sliding into home. There are moms who get their 10,000 steps by pacing during the game, and the ones who are so jumpy they might scale the fence at any second. I love the bitter solidarity that spreads from mom to mom when the other teams’ fans are obnoxious. I love to see a mama exhale when her kid catches a pop fly. There are zen mamas who morph into Hulk when their 7 lb 12 oz babies are on the wrong end of a bad call, and others (few) who say stuff like “at least they had fun.” There are moms who know everything about everything and keep us sorry souls informed, and moms who keep the energy high, leading chants and singing along to every walk-up song.
I love to cheer for their boys, and I love when they cheer for mine. We all have a touch of crazy, some flags just fly higher, depending on the day or the play.
God bless our boys and the game they love. May our ball players always remember: those crazy mamas on the bleachers are their biggest fans.
Bleacher Banter
My butt is frozen to these bleachers. I’m ready for spring.
I’m sitting on the surface of the sun.
Crap, my fan died.
What do I smell in your Yeti?
We are not going to the concession stand again. Watch your brother play!
Here, take $10 and buy whatever you want.
I am NOT going to be team mom this year.
Sure, I’ll be team mom!
Dear God, please help Tommy knock the snot out of that ball.
Dear God, I’m sorry for the things I said about an 8-year-old pitcher.
That coach needs to get it together. I don’t care if he is my husband.
JUST HAVE FUN, BABY!
MATTHEW BENJAMIN SMITH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE?
Does he know this isn’t dodgeball?
Just tell me what happens, I can’t watch.
HEADS UP!!!
Have you seen the bathrooms at this field? I’d rather squat behind a bush.
Those coaches are being too hard on Thomas.
THOMAS, RUN LIKE YOU’RE ON FIRE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
Do you know how much money I just spent on that bat? Ridiculous.
Of course I want a team shirt in every color!
Oh crap, where’s the baby?
He’s getting kicked out of the game for cussing! Good Lord, he’s working with kids for f#!@ sake!
Do the other team’s moms think this is a fashion show?
I had a blowout, threw on some Lululemon leggings, my Coach belt bag, Golden Goose sneakers and said so be it!
I’m telling you, he was so active in utero, I knew he’d be a ball player.
White pants. Great.
Our coach is an angry bird.
Our coach is not competitive enough. How will these boys play in the MLB?
Only four scrimmages this week? Do we want to win Saturday or not?
All I’m saying is that sweet angel baby out there is going to play for the Braves.
Either Tyson is giving a new signal or he needs to tinkle.
I want to see birth certificates for that team.
That umpire is the sweetest old man.
THAT WAS A STUPID CALL, BLUE! You know it, I know it, we all know it.
I am not cooking dinner after this.
HE WAS SAFE!
He would’ve been safe if that kid wasn’t blocking the dang base!
I’m going to let it go. Whatever. It’s a baseball game.
5 minutes later… You saw he was safe, right?
Bedtime prayers… Lord, we all know Johnny was safe. Amen.
Hide me so I don’t get asked to keep the stat book.
Well, he meets with his batting coach tomorrow, then there’s his agility class, then he has a tryout for another travel team, so maybe we can fit in school, I’m just not sure yet.
OK, I packed the bleacher seats, folding chairs, a blanket, snacks, drinks, an umbrella, a spray fan, a neck fan, a sweatshirt, a jacket, a hat, a visor, sunscreen, toys for the younger kids - baseball ready!
I was supposed to bring team snacks?
I had a calligrapher personalize each goody bag with the boys’ monograms, threw in some collectible baseball cards, and had an artist create replicas of each boy on the cookies. It was nothing.
We should just pitch a tent and call this ballpark home.
Game day! I love it.