In a League of Her Own

Approaching the diamond, Rosalina, four teammates and their teacher pause behind the Nationals dugout. Welders are still spraying blue sparks over left field, and construction debris still lines the concourses. Along the third-base line, Mayor Tony Williams practices throwing out the first ball.

Rosalina stares. He's doing everything wrong: pushing at the ball, starting in front of his ear, performing no follow-through or flick of his wrist. "He throws like this !" cries the team's left fielder, Paris Nicks, who is 11. Both girls -- who have been well taught and hurl the ball with an impressive, Pedro-Martinez elbow-hinge and wrist-whip -- begin mocking Williams's form.

"Does he play baseball?" asks a stunned shortstop Angelo Mark.

"We're gonna work on turning double plays," Byron Ewing says at practice one afternoon.

His infielders have gathered around the pitcher's mound, and Ewing -- they call him "Coach B" -- explains the situation: There's a runner on first. The next batter hits a grounder to second, and the baseman scoops it up, tags the bag and throws to first. "What's that called?" Coach B asks.

Except for Rosalina, the infielders look perplexed.

"Force-out," she answers.

Coach B nods, and they start practicing, with Rosalina at second, Angelo at shortstop. The two field, tag and hustle the double play to first. Rosalina is the only girl playing a competitive infield position.

Soon, a white moon rises in the darkening sky, and the air turns chilly enough for goose bumps. Still the kids practice -- cheating the afternoon, going till twilight, playing baseball until it's almost too dark to see.

Last year, when she was in fourth grade, Rosalina brought home a paper for her parents to sign. She wanted to play soccer.

Her father said no. A Salvadoran electrician who has lived for 22 years in Washington and who has been, along with Rosalina's uncles, a serious soccer player, Hector Segovia recalls thinking, "She was too little and skinny."

"They'll hit you," he told his daughter, one of the tiniest children in her grade, "and you won't be around for it to happen again."