Who says sports have to be cutthroat? For the Cougars and the Eagles, baseball is pure fun
By Adam Scott Williams
Photograph by Becca Young
“Libby, it’s time to warm up,” says Jeff Harvey to his Eagles teammate, Libby Waddell.
“You, me, go catch,” she replies.With her strong arm, Waddell often overthrows her partner. When she does, she covers her eyes with her hand and shakes her head in an “oops” gesture. Grinning, Harvey chases the throws.
The Eagles warm up for a two-inning slugfest with the Cougars at St. Louis County’s Tilles Park. A volunteer adult pitcher stands close and leans in, concentrating on making every underhand pitch hittable. He and the catcher encourage the batters by name. Every player hits, runs (or wheels) the bases and plays the field, with buddy assistance if necessary.
When the bat meets the ball, the runner is urged on with claps and yells. The pitcher occasionally tosses an extra ball or two to fielders, keeping them on their toes and having fun. At first base, Waddell, 19, dives to tag the base with her glove, rolling onto her back and standing up again. Dirt accumulates on her uniform, an accent of pride for a hustling ballplayer.
The Cougars, the Eagles and all of the other teams in this league consist of players with developmental disabilities and the “buddies” who support them in the field. Started in 1994 by local graphic-arts designer Buck Smith, the St. Louis Challenger Baseball League (www.challengerbaseball.org) has grown from 15 players to more than 200, and the league has just played its 12th season in the way only it can: with no win-loss records, scores, outs or strikes and replacing the typical priorities of competition with fun, success beyond limitations, equality with teammates and the unwavering attention of a beaming crowd.
After each Cougar has batted, Harvey, 17, walks in from the field, laying an arm around his friend Mike Beezley’s shoulders. “You ready to hit some, Mike?” When Beezley looks up with a smile, Harvey says, “All right, buddy. Let’s hit.”
Eagles coach Gail Kathe has a daughter, Anne Morrisey, on the team. Kathe says the greatest thing for the players is acceptance: “Challenger baseball levels the playing field for my daughter. It’s hard not to shine with this type of encouragement.”
Awaiting the last at-bat of the second (and final) inning, Waddell stands on third. Her dad, Joe Waddell, waits next to her, a momentary third-base coach. He leans over to her, hands on his knees. Libby puts her arm across his back, then gives him a peck on the cheek and a pat on the head. She tells him that she wants to run home and that he can’t follow her. Moments later, she runs, receiving high-fives as she crosses home plate.
