Referred to as “town ball” as far back as the early 19th century, Little League continues to capture our attention. Parents endure the spring chill, and early summer heat in huddles on the sidelines, while young players abide by the traditional rhythms of the game, out in the fields, or in dugouts, whose walls gleam with fresh coats of green paint.
In an election year when Americans stand divided, the ritual of youth baseball reminds us of something we all share, weaving through us a common historical thread of familiarity. Shot in black and white, these images allow for an age-old communion between player and spectator, and a mutual love of a timeless game. Fields connect communities, and children gear up with hope and a simple goal of crossing home plate into the arms of cheering teammates. An umpire’s call through a cloud of dust, brings us to our feet with expressions of exhilaration or disappointment, and for a short time allows us to break from the constant nagging of a cell phone or work obligations. In these moments we have the comfort of knowing, that in another part of the country, also exists, spectators on bleachers, clustered around baseball fields in the fading evening sun, with a similar view, unchanged.