For Love of the Game : In Challenger League for handicapped children, they don’t bother to keep score. And everybody wins.

The parents are in their respective bleachers, along with the sisters and brothers, teachers, friends, and a few dogs. Anticipation is high, interest keen.

The Lake Forest Braves, suited up in red and gray, are up first. Sheena Morales, pitching for the Rancho Niguel White Sox, is on the (imaginary) mound. She’s cool, except maybe she’s smiling a little too much.

(Gotta watch that, Sheena. Remember, this is Little League.)

The batter looks tough, focused. I’m betting he’s the type of kid who practices relentlessly in the back yard. Probably got a huge stack of baseball cards, with all the stats memorized. Kid probably dreams Major League.

“Hey, White Sox, start your chatter!” the coach yells. Brian Dubia, playing shortstop, jumps to oblige. “Hey, batta, batta!” he sings.

Except ol’ Bri could definitely stand some work on his attitude. He doesn’t scowl. Plus, he keeps turning around to grin at everybody he sees. He yells to his teacher that he’ll hit a home run for her. She tells him that’s great and to turn around and keep his eye on the game.

Then Sheena lets go with the pitch. And the batter . . . swings! At the air.

The crowd loves it. Whoops and cheers. Way to go! Good job! Great swing!

But, get this. They mean it. All of them, the Sox fans and those that are here for the Braves. And nobody even mentions the S-word.

OK, I’ll say it . . . STRIKE!

Nope, not here.

This is the Challenger League, where believe it or not, the handicapped ballplayers are out strictly for fun. It’s the grown-ups who can worry about the other stuff--like fostering cooperation, and self-esteem, and discipline, and friendship. Except they don’t have to.

That takes care of itself.

So the Braves batter is ready to give it another go. He hasn’t lost his concentration one bit, although you can tell that all that praise has got to him, all right. He’s smiling big.

Sheena, meantime, looks ready to rock ‘n’ roll. And, incidentally, she’s not alone on the mound. Her buddy for the game, 11-year-old Brent Harrison, in his Yankees uniform of the Rancho Niguel Little League Majors, is by her side. They’ve met about, oh, five minutes ago.

That was when White Sox coach Darrell Burnett, who’s a father and clinical psychologist, gave the Yankees the word on what it means to be a buddy to a child in the Challenger League. Praise is key.

“The whole idea is that they are just like you guys,” Coach tells the Yankee huddle. “They have feelings too.”

Then Coach drives home his point. “It feels good when someone pats you on the back!” he says.

The Yankees nod knowingly, and smile. They’re all ready to play ball, Challenger style.

So Sheena is winding up. Oh, is she ready .

The ball flies from her hand and clean across the plate. (OK, I’m guessing here. Because no umpires are allowed.)

The batter swings! And the catcher eventually finds the ball.

This happens a few more times--no counting please--and then, bingo! A hit! Sort of like a line drive but with a few bounces and a roll.

Doesn’t matter, of course. Sheena catches it and gets ready to throw. The batter is about half way to first, when Sheena makes her move.

“Throw it to first base, Sheena!” coach says. “Throw it!”

So she throws the ball . . . home.

And, naturally, the crowd goes wild. Great play, Sheena! There are congratulations all around. The pitcher beams.

“Sheena, how did you feel when you threw that ball?” I ask in an exclusive interview later on.

“Happy!” she says.

“And, you, Brent, what did you think when you saw Sheena throwing to home base?” I ask her buddy and new best pal.

“That she had a good arm,” the kid says, straight as they come.

And, just think, all this excitement from only the first play.

To clear up any confusion about the rules, let me simplify it right here: Everybody wins in the Challenger League.

Says Delia Pyle, whose Yankee son was a buddy today, “I think kids from this area have so much. We don’t see how challenging life can be for other people. . . . I saw a quality in those handicapped kids that our kids can learn from.

“They didn’t get discouraged. They’d be out there, swinging away 10 times, and they’d keep at it. I think the helpers probably learned more than the Challenger kids.”

Mike Pyle, 11, says this of hanging out with buddy Marc Weakland, who got a big kick out of stealing his glove, and messing up his hair: “It’s hard, but it’s like really fun, helping them. I just want to help him so much.”

There are, of course, many more highlights of the game. Only don’t ask me for the score. There wasn’t any, in an official sense. Just lots of moments to take home after the playing field is dark.

Like when Ryan cries because he can’t play catcher--he loves it how those real catchers take their masks off and rest it on the top of their heads--but then makes up for it with a spectacular belly flop slide into home base.

“Ryan! Good slide, dude!” yells dad Randy Shellenbaum from the stands.

Or when Garrett Cattaneo, seemingly missing the action way out in left field, suddenly turns into a megastar when he catches a ball. Both White Sox coaches run to congratulate him, slapping his palm, giving him a high five.

“Garrett, you’re a star!” I tell him.

“Right!” he beams. The kid never had a doubt.

And then there’s Susan Alexander, mother of 11-year-old Kaitie, who plays first base for the White Sox from her wheelchair. She’s the most disabled child on the team, and needs help to hit the ball. Her wheelchair needs to be pushed.

“Why do you do it?” I ask Susan. It is a tremendous amount of work just to get her daughter here, ready to play.

“Oh, for her!” Susan says, holding the “Go Kaitie!” banner that her special education teacher has made.

“It’s really so wonderful. I get all choked up just thinking about it. It’s just one more thing to do for these kids to make their lives as normal as possible.”

Susan’s eyes are now filmed with tears. And, shucks, it’s only a game!

But, of course, everybody here knows that it’s really much more.