Everyone Wins : Disabled Youngsters Pitch In and Have a Ball on Their Little League Teams

Ryan Potsdam, the catcher, picked up the tossed bat and then raised his hand high for a congratulatory slap as the runner crossed home plate, scoring for the other team.

It may have been the first documented case of an Athletic high-fiving a Giant, but no matter.

Ryan, an 11-year-old with Down’s syndrome, is a Little League baseball player, and that is enough.

There was a time when the Mission Viejo boy was supposed to be content with a uniform, sitting on the sidelines while his brother, Mitchell, played other team sports. That simply was not good enough for Ryan.

His mother, Jodi, and his father, Marty, remember the anguish it caused them to hold him back as he strained to join the other children at their game.

“My son never felt he could keep up with the other kids,” said Jodi Potsdam, sitting in the stands of one of the fields at Mission Viejo Youth Athletic Park, across from Lake Mission Viejo. “When he plays on his team now, his smile goes from here to Milwaukee.”

Ryan is a member of the Athletics, one of six teams of children with mental and physical disabilities playing in Little League District 55, which encompasses Irvine, Mission Viejo, Laguna Hills and San Juan Capistrano.

The teams are part of a Little League Challenger Division, a program that began last year with five experimental leagues and this year has swelled to 317 leagues across the country, including 61 in California and five in Orange County.

With the burgeoning program, thousands of disabled youths have joined the 2.5 million youngsters who play Little League baseball.

“I used to feel bad that I couldn’t do the sport,” said Nick Boehm, 9, of Mission Viejo, who weighed only 2 pounds, 15 ounces when he was born 10 to 12 weeks prematurely. He has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. “I have some good teammates,” he pointed out.

That doesn’t mean that baseball is his favorite activity. Neither is horseback riding or wheelchair tennis.

“Why don’t you tell what your favorite thing is,” Lori Boehm said to Nick, who cocked his head and squinted back at his mother, his smile spreading.

“Nintendo,” he answered.

Officials at the Little League’s headquarters in Williamsport, Pa., say that their group is the only organized team sport offering programs for disabled youth as part of the program.

That is joyfully welcomed by parents who want to provide experiences for their disabled children similar to those of other children.

“They’re doing the same things kids who are not handicapped can do,” said Cindy Brannon of Cypress, whose son, Travis, 10, has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair to play for the Dodgers in the Loara League. “This is like a 6new beginning. They get to dress in a uniform and play a team sport.”

Once caught in a bind between encouraging their children in sports and protecting them from failure, many parents say they have found a solution in Challenger Division teams.

“Whatever he wants to do, we want him to have a chance to do,” said Carlene Mattson of Laguna Hills, whose son, Jeff, is a red-haired, freckled 10-year-old with Down’s syndrome. “But sometimes, you can’t just throw him in the mainstream because if he’s not successful, it’s not a good experience.”

Now Jeff plays Little League, just like his brother, Ty, who is 12.

“Even though it’s not integrated on the field, in other ways it is,” Mattson said. “They’ll all be on the field together for the special day at Anaheim Stadium (Little League district recognition). When his brother does it, Jeff will be doing it, too.”

During the times that they tour Anaheim Stadium, the youngsters yearn for a glimpse of their favorite Angel. Pitcher Jim Abbott has a special following among players in the Challenger Division.

“Where’s the one-handed pitcher?” 10-year-old Travis Brannon asked as his brother, Jared, 8, wheeled him by the Angel dugout.

Abbott, born without a right hand, is an Angel starter.

“He’s an ideal role model,” said Paul Jockinsen of Anaheim, a longtime volunteer in the Loara League who recently retired after 34 years of teaching special education in the Bellflower Unified School District.

“What that says to these children is that no matter what your quote-unquote handicap is, there might be a way to overcome it. It might not make a difference.”

Baseball as it is played in the Challenger Division is a sport for every child, customized to individual abilities.

A child in a wheelchair might swing at a ball on a hitting tee, and then roll pell-mell for first base under the power of a helper designated to do the pushing. Some other children swing at thrown pitches but need guidance from a “buddy” to know where to run. A player in a wheelchair might need a buddy to field the ball, then hand it over to be rolled to the base for an out.

Buddies are sometimes parents or siblings, and sometimes they are other Little League players. “The buddy system we use is probably one of the most important parts because it enables children without a disability to get an idea what it is like,” said Jim Ferguson, who directs the national Challenger program for Little League.

“A lot of your friends might make fun of disabled children, but this puts it in a different light. One reason why is they both have something in common now--baseball. Instead of making fun of Johnny, a child might realize how difficult this is for him. I’m hoping this might move off the field and into everyday life.”

Challenger teams have a rule book, but it is one they abandon to accommodate any child’s situation. An inning usually consists of a turn through the whole lineup instead of the customary three outs.

And when a youngster running the bases sometimes cuts off the corner at second and steps over the bag at third, the cheers continue anyhow.

“We don’t keep score,” Jodi Potsdam said.

“But when we walk off the field,” Carlene Mattson interrupted, “we always say, ‘Way to win.’ ”

The Challenger program has grown from the efforts of parents in several towns in Pennsylvania and Texas who started their own teams. Little League officials saw the value of the programs and made them part of their scope, opening the teams to youngsters from 6 to 18. Word spread of the Challenger Division across the country through Little League’s elaborate network of community volunteers. The program has worked so well, so quickly, because the organization was already established.

“A lot of parents are real skeptical at first,” said Ferguson, the national director. “They don’t want their children to be exploited or put in a situation to be ridiculed. But once they see what it’s like, word gets back to other parents, and it grows and grows and grows.”

Baseball gives disabled children an activity, and it also has therapeutic value, said Jockinsen, the former special education teacher. “Playing team sports, they learn to listen to what’s going on and pay attention. They’re also learning physical skills.”

The uniform, which is the treasured trophy of any Little League player, has special meaning to Challenger players.

“Being in uniform is a thing they’ve seen on TV,” Jockinsen said. “All of a sudden, they’re involved. They have an identity not many of them had before.”

Working with the needs of disabled children has been therapeutic for local Little League administrators as well.

Ken Kieling, assistant administrator of District 55, sat watching as the disabled children struggled with the rules and skills of baseball in their first game this season.

Weeks later, he cheered them on as they played the game they had learned.

“Just to watch these kids from the first game to now is unbelievable,” said Kieling, whose wife Marye has coordinated the program in their district. “We’ve dealt with Little League for 20 years. This has been like a recharging experience.”

Bill Beebe, District 55 administrator, said that the organization was uncertain about how to work with disabled children, but that he has learned that the important thing is simply to provide them with the opportunity other children have.

“We used to worry that a child would fall from a wheelchair,” he said. “But regular kids fall down. We’re trying to get in line with the same feeling of the parents, and this is very simply that they’re kids.”

That is the way the kids now see it, too.

Carlene Mattson tells a story about Jeff that has made the rounds of the parents sitting in the stands on the fields across from Lake Mission Viejo.

The first time he put on his uniform, Jeff turned to his mother with an announcement.

“Now I’m a real kid,” he said.

“Gosh, Jeff, you’ve always been a real kid,” Carlene told her son.

“No, Mom, now I’m a real kid,” he said.