Lark’s First Cheer Banner — Under the maple trees beside Tenth Street Field, Lark pressed her palm over a strip of yellow cloth and promised herself twelve neat letters before the first pitch. Read the full story →
Under the maple trees beside Tenth Street Field, Lark pressed her palm over a strip of yellow cloth and promised herself twelve neat letters before the first pitch. She had cut them from old blue practice socks, one wobbly G, one proud O, and TEAM with the seams still showing. The glue smelled like lemons, and the cloth felt soft as a worn mitt. Her obstacle was the wind, which kept puffing through the fence and flipping the letters upside down.
“Hold still, you silly E,” Lark whispered, pinning it with a clothespin from her pocket. By the time the batter stepped into the box, she had tied the banner to the back fence with shoelaces, tugging each knot until her fingers ached. The pitcher wound up. The ball sailed. Everyone jumped, and the wind snapped the banner open so hard it made a cheerful whap.
The batter smiled before swinging, and the whole team seemed to stand taller. Ever since, people at Tenth Street Field say a team needs a handmade cheer on the fence, because a banner made by someone’s own hands can catch the wind and send it back as courage. Next time you spot the yellow sign, see if Lark’s wobbly E is still holding still.
