Let's talk about what Maine is asking these kids to do right now. It is April 21st. The forecast for the rest of the week includes a high of 46, wind gusts of 22, and a rain event described on the weather app as sneaky mixed precipitation. This is the forecast. This is the weather we are asking teenagers to throw a five ounce leather sphere across a field in. And they are doing it anyway because the season starts when the MPA says it starts and the MPA has never once consulted your space heater.
Here is a short list of things that happen at a Maine April baseball game that do not happen in the other 49 states.
First, the coaches wear parkas. Full winter coats. Zipped to the collarbone. The players are in nylon uniforms made for June, so every time a kid dives for a ball the whole dugout reflexively flinches. The catcher has hand warmers inside the mitt. The pitcher is blowing on his fingers between every single pitch. Nobody thinks this is weird. Everyone is smiling politely.
Second, the baseballs themselves are frozen. A cold April baseball travels approximately the distance of a tax form thrown out of a car window. A hitter makes solid contact, the ball leaves the bat sounding like a wet paper bag being slapped, and then it floats to the shortstop like it is underwater. Home runs do not exist in April. Home runs are a June phenomenon. In April you are looking for doubles.
Third, the field. Let's talk about the field. Opening week in Maine means groundskeepers squeegeeing puddles into the outfield at 9 AM for a 4 PM first pitch. It means the third base coach stepping on a patch of grass that looks fine and sinking up to his shin. It means a routine grounder hitting a chunk of frozen mud in the infield and taking off at a 45 degree angle into the catcher's mask. It means gym class conditions, and everybody playing through it like this is a normal Tuesday.
Fourth, the fans. Oh, the fans. Every April baseball game in Maine has the same eight people in the bleachers. Two sets of grandparents, a sibling playing Nintendo Switch under a blanket, a retired teacher named Jim, and one confused guy who thought he was at the softball game. They are all wearing parkas. They all brought thermoses. The retired teacher named Jim has been at every baseball game in this town since 1987 and he is not missing this one for a little bit of hail.
Fifth, the rescheduling. You schedule 16 games. You will play maybe 10 of them when they were originally scheduled. The other six will get moved to a random Wednesday when everyone had homework, a Saturday doubleheader at 9 AM after senior prom, or a makeup day in late May where your kid plays three games in 48 hours on tired legs. Athletic directors do not sleep in April. Athletic directors are in a trance state holding a clipboard and a weather radar app.
Here is our small honest confession about this. GameIQ is trying to learn a new season, a new set of players, and the teams keep playing slightly different games than the ones they were supposed to play. A team scheduled to face the best arm in the conference might end up facing a sophomore because the rain Tuesday pushed it to a Friday and the ace was already on his pitch count. The data is noisy because the games themselves are noisy. That is just April in Maine. It smooths out by Memorial Day.
So to the kids out there currently standing in a dugout with their hands inside their own jerseys trying to warm up: we see you. To the parents in lawn chairs underneath three blankets: we respect you. To the athletic directors frantically moving a doubleheader from Scarborough to Edward Little on four hours notice: we will buy you a coffee. To the ground crew out there with a tamper: you are the unsung heroes of April, and you will be in the Trophy Room by June if there is any justice in this world.
See everyone in May, when the ball actually carries and the grass actually grows and this sport returns to making a little bit of sense. Until then, enjoy the beautifully stubborn disaster of Maine April baseball. It is the weirdest version of the game and honestly it might be our favorite.