When I was younger, I played on my fair share of Little League teams. Our teams were always named after the big league teams because that's who every player wanted to be. One of the major leaguers. Even at that age, I can remember people have that end game. I remember, in particular, playing for the Mariners. Our hats were that turquoise color, the one that's only suitable for sporting uniforms of some type. If you wore it anywhere else, it'd be tacky. Even when you wore it there it was, probably.
To this day I couldn't tell you what a Mariner is. I wouldn't want to spoil it now by using the Internet. I just knew that all I wanted to be that summer was one, whatever they were.
I was never bad at baseball. I don't recall being particularly bad at anything I've tried. I have countless memories of being just okay (most of them in the wide world of sports), but never overwhelmingly incompetent. I could throw, I could catch, and I was scared of getting hit while at bat, so I averaged out to your ordinary Little League player, I think.
It's funny how short some of our dreams last. I never really wanted to play baseball after that. Or before that, for that matter. I'm not sure if I even wanted to then, but I belonged to something and that was enough. That shouldn't end.
It did, of course. I don't even pay attention to sports anymore. I think you can tell that by how many times I have to refer to them as "sports." It feels like such an obligatory term because of my lack of better knowledge. I promise I'm decently aware of how the games work.
I don't remember my exact point. It just struck me that for one summer, for some reason, I wanted to be something without even the slightest knowledge of what it was.