Arts and Entertainment

A star is born on the Unalakleet baseball diamond

UNALAKLEET -- I wouldn't say I was a prissy kid when I was small, but I was the baby of the family. My mom braided or "fixed" my hair every day with bobble hair ties. I was the kid who wore pink pastel shirts and clean jeans with no holes, so it was no surprise when at 10 years old, I was one of the last kids to be picked for a team.

I didn't care. I just wanted to play. All the kids played. I knew the others saw me as a priss, but I figured even us prissy kids start somewhere.

My first season started when he showed up with his bat and ball while I was on the monkey bars. After the snow melted, kids gathered at the playground when the word spread that Quincy brought his aluminum bat and Super Pinky ball. He was a tall kid. A fast kid. He tossed the aluminum bat to George, another older kid, who caught it. We all watched the two "big boys" to see who picked first for the two teams.

Quincy grasped the bat above George's hand, then George's above Quincy's and up their hands went, one by one. The owner of the hand who cupped the top of the bat picked the first player. This ritual was sacrosanct, always done by the two oldest, or most respected, athletes in town. When your name was called, you stood next to the captain, and the teams were set.

Eskimo Baseball

In Kotzebue, they call the game Norwegian. In Nome, they call it Eskimo Baseball. In Unalakleet, where even the citizens don't pronounce the name of our town correctly, we go for simplicity. On any nice day, one can hear the excited conversation between kids, "Let's go to the playground. Maybe they're playing Bat."

The game is simple. The beauty of it is 10-year-olds can play with high schoolers. Or high schoolers can play with 60-year-olds. As long as you ran and worked hard, which we all did, you were fine.

As long as you were loyal to your team for that day, which we all were, you were fine. As long as you weren't a jerk, you were fine. Thirty kids, easily, would show up for a game. We played in the early afternoon. We played after dinner. We played until our midnight curfew. We played whenever someone showed up with a bat and a ball.

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I wasn't much of a player at first and I could tell by the way kids looked at me that they didn't think I'd contribute much. But still, I showed up with pink pants and a ponytail. I stood there as the Quincys, the Georges, the Feltons, the LaVernes picked their teams. I hit the ball as hard as I could. I ran as fast as I could. Still, I could see the others didn't have much faith.

Until it happened.

A miracle?

On one perfect day at the playground, we all gathered for a game of Bat. The two bases were set and kids lined up to hit. I was "out," or in the outfield, waiting for the other team to put the ball in motion. In the outfield, if you hit someone with the ball between bases or caught the ball, the teams switched. Those who were out were in. Those who were in were out. I stood way back in the outfield, hoping no one would hit that far.

Then a player who resembled Quincy hit the ball. It went up. And I could tell it was coming straight at me. I watched. And watched. I thought about the humiliation if the ball dropped: "If I don't catch this, no one's going to think I'm good."

LaVerne was watching. Sam was watching. Joee was watching. Traeger was watching. And I waited with my hands in the air.

I don't know how it happened, but the ball ended up in my hands. To me, it was a miracle. I looked at LaVerne, who smiled so big. She didn't know about the divine intervention. I did it. And I had it. Their faith. My faith. Confidence. The ball. I suddenly became someone they wanted on their team. I wasn't just a little girl anymore. I was someone who could catch the ball and make good things happen, even in pink clothes.

Laureli Ivanoff lives in Nome, where she's raising her two children, Joe and Sidney. They eat a lot of fish and are very proud of their yorkipoo named Pushkin.

Laureli Ivanoff

Laureli Ivanoff, Yup'ik and Inupiaq, is a writer and advocate in Unalakleet where, with her family, she cuts fish and makes seal oil.

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