Minneapolis sandbox ball brings neighborhood baseball game back to life

Three families gathered at Lake Hiawatha Park last week for Minneapolis Sandlot Ball and lined up in age groups — ranging from 6 to 40-plus — to determine the batting order. As the youngest came up to bat, a few mothers introduced themselves and headed to the outfield.

Unbound by the usual rules and regulations of baseball, the casual pickup game was full of curveballs. One kid sat on a base. Another played in the home-plate dirt. A father who called his beloved baseball “a tough game to play” (because of the number of players required) hit one deep to center. A runner tickled the third baseman.

A 9-year-old boy walking by with his grandfather saw the fun and wanted to join in.

“Can I play?” he asked.

Of course. The boy got a slap and ran to the first place, losing his sandals on the way.

Just a generation after the 1990s cult classic “The Sandlot” immortalized this nostalgic American pastime, the Associated Press had declared that neighborhood baseball games were “on the brink of extinction.”

Video games, parental fear of crime, and the proliferation of exclusive, high-pressure, “select” teams were to blame. And the decline of sandlot meant that kids were missing crucial skills not just in the fundamentals of the sport, but in organizing teams, negotiating rules, and making decisions.

This summer, Christian Alberto Ledesma created Minneapolis Sandlot Ball to bring back the competitive, inclusive style of play. At the group’s low-key weekly games, no uniforms, spikes or athletic prowess are required. Strangers are welcome, and you don’t even have to remember your teammates’ names on a field where “Principal Ledesma” will respond with, “Hey, Mets jersey.”

export const sampleFunction = props => props.isValid ? props.value : props.error;

‘The good old days’

This month, Ledesma, principal of nearby Roosevelt High School, was named his department’s Principal of the Year by the state Association of High School Principals.

But four decades ago, he was a child of Ecuadorian immigrants who learned to love baseball in Brooklyn. Though Ledesma downplays his baseball background as “pretty basic,” he has covered the bases.

He played baseball as a child and has long been a spectator (he joined the Mets because he found the Yankees’ colors “boring”). As an adult, he joined recreational softball leagues and helped coach his children’s teams.

Ledesma said that in the “good old days” in sandstone-lined Brooklyn, you could play a game in the time it took you to pick up a ball and a bat.

“Someone would walk up and down the street and say, ‘Hey, we’re going to play stickball,’ and all of a sudden there would be about ten kids playing in the street.”

Mpls. Sandbox ball

These days, Ledesma’s front yard often becomes a de facto diamond. A pinecone is the pitcher’s mound; a dirt spot is home plate; a neighbor’s tree is first base. He and his children — ages 6, 10 and 13 — often play a shortened version of baseball in which “ghost runners” scamper around the bases.

When the family wanted to play at Lake Hiawatha Park but realized they would be dwarfed by the big baseball field, Ledesma put out a call on Facebook. His post attracted two other families. (“One mom showed up in flip-flops and picked up a glove anyway.”) To better coordinate the gatherings, Ledesma created a Facebook page for Minneapolis Sandlot Ball, which quickly grew to more than 80 members.

After the time and location of a sandlot game are posted, everyone who shows up participates and supports each other, Ledesma said. While some kids also play on travel teams and others in T-ball leagues, the group can accommodate differences in skill levels.

The littlest ones get unlimited pitches and run when they make contact, foul or not. And teenage fielders “accidentally” drop balls to even the playing field. The older kids embrace the trick, Ledesma said. “You should see the smiles on the big kids’ faces when you see the little guy running around the bases.”

The Sandlot group recruited other players they encountered in the park, including a skilled father-son duo who made quite an impression, Ledesma said. “The dad hit some home runs and the kids were like, ‘Wow!‘ And I thought, ‘How often does the father get the chance to do that?“”

Youth sports programs typically separate kids (on the field) from their parents (in the stands, often scrolling on their phones). At Sandlot, adults share the drills and team camaraderie.

“It’s fun to give adults the chance to swing a bat, grab a glove and run the bases, even if we end up talking about how old we feel,” Ledesma said. “Like, ‘‘Ouch, that really hurt!’ Or, ‘I’m out of breath after running the bases“”

Social muscles

One Sandlot player, Cassie Zonnenfeld, noted that it’s usually necessary to plan ahead and register online to join a youth sports team. As a social worker, she’s seen language and technology barriers prevent kids from participating, and she said she appreciates that Sandlot can be more spontaneous and doesn’t require creating yet another digital account.

While she and her husband likely would have played the same sport at home with their baseball-obsessed 6-year-old, they joined Sandlot for the social factor. “We can do something fun as a family with neighbors and meet others in the community,” she said.

Last week, her family encountered a father and his teenage daughter playing volleyball on the outfield, and the Sandlot group invited them to join in.

The father explained that, having grown up in Africa, he had never played baseball and was unfamiliar with the rules. But after Ledesma’s wife, Wendy, explained the basics, father and daughter had their first hits and rounded the bases.

“I thought it was great,” the father said afterward. “It was really fun,” his daughter added.

Ledesma sees Sandlot as an antidote to the isolation he sees among his students, who are still struggling to recover from pandemic lockdowns and are stuck in virtual social lives.

“We haven’t really worked on our social skills and the ability to connect with others,” he said.

Ledesma noted that children today have experienced many historical events. Being social in an informal way and developing interpersonal skills can help them feel included rather than overwhelmed.

“The world is a lot right now,” he said. “And kids need to have fun. And kids need to connect. And not just the kids, because you see the parents want to connect and have a good time.”