Everyone knows the Soccer Mom. She’s an athleisure-wearing, minivan-driving, suburban mom whose children may or may not actually play soccer. Being a soccer mom doesn’t mean a woman isn’t intelligent, creative, ambitious, and/or thoughtful and perhaps we shouldn’t define someone based on their attire or vehicle, which are just practical choices for their lifestyle, okay? But I digress. The point is, the Soccer Mom is ubiquitous. I am a soccer mom. If you’re reading this, you are probably a soccer mom. But have you met… the Baseball Mom?

I first recognized the Baseball Mom a few months ago when my son, playing his second season in a coach-pitch league, made a base hit and absolutely ploughed down the first baseman. I mean, he really took the kid out. But he was safe! The other team’s coach threw up his hands in dismay. Our coach took James aside and with some gravitas quietly spoke to him, probably about not knocking out other players. But the Baseball Moms? They were going wild.  “Way to play aggressively!” “Woooo! What a play!” “Go get ‘em, James!” The first baseman may have suffered a minor concussion, but tough luck. “They should teach their players not to crowd the base,” the Baseball Moms muttered.

The Baseball Mom can also be – and often is – a Soccer Mom. But the Soccer Mom is a lifestyle. The Baseball Mom is an attitude. The Soccer Mom shows up to a game with her mineral-based sunscreen and shaded lawn chair. Soccer Moms have consistent practice schedules and pass out orange slices for snacks. They enjoy an hour of chit-chat with the other parents during games and occasionally shout a half-hearted, “Good job, Sweetie!” when their kid makes a pass or scores. She doesn’t know which; she’s hardly paying attention. But who can blame her? Soccer is boring.

Baseball is not boring, at least not rec league baseball with teams comprised of 5-8 year-old boys. (As a rule, nothing 5-8 year-old boys do is boring.) “My resting heartrate is 120,” one Baseball Mom whispered to me during a particularly tense game. Baseball Moms fly by the seat of their pants. Schedules? Ha! Baseball Moms postpone birthday parties and cancel family vacations for rain delays and playoff games. They get splinters from rotting bleachers and lose their voices from cheering so loud you can hear them three fields away, all while feeding their other children eight concessions hot dogs a week. There are no orange slices in baseball.

The Baseball Mom is intense, loud, aggressive. She’s a little grimy, her face covered in a dirt-and-sweat sheen. Spittle sprays from her mouth as she heckles the ump and hollers at the opposing team’s coaches. “Just let them play! They’re KINDERGARTENERS for chrissake!”  (Okay, maybe not hollers. She’s still a mom and needs to demonstrate sportsmanlike behavior or whatever.) The baseball players are passionate, desperate for glory. But they’re still little. They get distracted. While there might be an all-star who is so invested in the game that he makes the sign of the cross before going up to bat, there’s also kid breakdancing in the outfield. If there’s a huge third-grader who can hit a home run, there’s a first-grader who buckles under the weight of the catcher’s equipment or can barely lift the bat. This – This is where the Baseball Moms shine. For every strikeout or home run, overthrow or unbelievable catch, the Baseball Mom is matching her kid’s passion with unbridled – and slightly unhinged – enthusiasm, letting them know that however they play, they are GREAT. The Baseball Moms may be embarrassing (to their kids and themselves) but those players know without a doubt how much their parents love watching them play the game. Even the breakdancing. Especially the breakdancing.

Last season, I was too pregnant to be a Baseball Mom. Frankly, I didn’t have the lung capacity to be a Baseball Mom. But this season, I was all in. I loved it. It was fun to abandon all pretense of dignity and inhabit a world of crazed fandom. Our season ended last weekend in a heartbreaker of a loss after we – somewhat surprisingly – made it all the way to the semi-finals. I’m so grateful for the encouraging and kind and uplifting coaches who vastly improved each and every boy’s skill level and, more importantly, urged them to have fun. It’s bittersweet saying goodbye to this season, but it’s time to move on; I don’t think the Baseball Moms’ hearts could handle another game.