Missing the First Pitch

The ball came fast at shortstop Michael Kennedy. He fielded it cleanly, stepped on second, pivoted and fired to first base, a 6-3 beauty of a double play.

The early inning crowd in Ashburn cheered, but to Kennedy's 12-year-old ears, something was missing. His big sister, Colleen, whom he wants at every game because she yells the loudest, wasn't in her usual place in the stands. She was stuck in traffic on the Dulles Toll Road.

"After the game, he came out of the dugout and told me he knew I had missed the play," said Colleen Kennedy, 24. "I felt sad."

For Colleen Kennedy and countless others in the Washington region, where commuters suffer through some of the longest trips in the country, worsening congestion is claiming another victim: the Little League experience.

What was once a special occasion that bound young ballplayers, their families and communities, Little League games have taken on a different look and feel.

Late-arriving parents and coaches show up in suits instead of shorts, their hands clutching BlackBerrys instead of mitts. Kids, who wear their uniforms to school and can imagine nothing as terrible as a rainy day, are robbed of pregame practices and must wait to play until as late as 7:30 at night -- almost a half-hour after the first pitch is thrown out for Nationals games at RFK Stadium. The children's games end at or past bedtime, leaving little room for homework and -- worse to Little Leaguers -- the traditional after-game trip for pizza or ice cream. And leagues struggle to sign up coaches, volunteers and umpires who can commit to arriving on time.

"When I was growing up, you would ride your bike to the field with your glove on the handlebar and coaches worked in town or owned local businesses," said Andy Braumann, who commutes from the District to coach a team in Loudoun County. "It's a different world."

For parents such as Rich Rossman, whose father played in the minor leagues for the Boston Red Sox, missing or being late to a game because of traffic means something very different from missing a dentist's appointment. Making the games is one of the ways parents judge themselves and their commitment to their kids. Missing that diving catch can haunt a family member for years.

"It's all about being there so my son can see I'm at his practice," said Rossman, who recently moved from Gainesville to Herndon to be closer to his son, who lives with his ex-wife. "It kills me to miss a game -- it kills me."

Rossman added that the region's chronic traffic "is what makes living in what could be a nice place to live unpalatable."

Just before a recent game at Greg Crittenden Memorial Park in Ashburn, the parking lot was filled with sport-utility vehicles and minivans. Out popped tots in junior-size Oakland Athletics and Chicago White Sox uniforms carrying well-oiled gloves. The players, ages 9 to 12, were quickly followed by multitasking parents, some still in work clothes, keys in one hand and bags of fast food in the other.

The parents settled into metal stands or elaborate beach chairs with beverage holders. There were plenty of empty seats.