After 34 years of retirement from baseball, I'm back on the field. The game now is softball. The players are little girls.

It's the Pitt County Girls Softball League. They could have named it the Dads and Daughters League. Sometimes, it's hard to tell who is having more fun.

For myself and the other dad coaches, it's a chance to revisit our glory days, minus the trash talking.

I played two years of Little League baseball in Johnson City, Tenn. Just making the team was highly competitive then.

It was as though every 10-year-old boy in town showed up on tryout day. They quickly narrowed the field by hitting fly balls to each kid.

I missed all three of mine and went home brokenhearted.

Fortunately for me, and a lot of other kids, there was a man named Mr. King who thought every boy should have the chance to play organized baseball.

Mr. King made it his mission to gather up enough leftover boys and hand-me-down uniforms to field two teams. We played each other — and occasionally a third ragtag team from across town — for two glorious seasons at Princeton Recreation Center.

Mr. King taught me the fundamentals at every position.

But I learned from my teammates how to taunt opposing pitchers and batters with "rubber arm" and "say-batter-hey-batter" antics.

"Whatsamatta batta? Fastball scare ya? Swing batta, swing!"

The 5-year-old and 6-year-old girls on my daughter's team have not advanced to trash talking.

The air is strictly positive, and tinged with feminine fashion.

Pink dominates the dugouts. Pink gloves, pink bats and pink, ponytail-friendly helmets.

There are no losers in this league, and no enemies. The girl arriving at second for an infield double gets a hug and a high-five from the opposing team's second-base coach.

No one is impatient, even when a batter consumes three minutes of pitches before connecting with the ball.

No one gets yelled at — although playing in the dirt is widely frowned upon.

Sports-related injuries are referred to as boo-boos.

It is possible, however, that some of the girls are beginning to sense the inherent competitive nature of softball.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, I was coaching first base while the opposing team was at bat. I congratulated one of that team's more experienced players on her impressive base hit.

"Are you Carly's daddy?" she asked sweetly.

"That's right," I said proudly, "I'm Carly's daddy."

She seemed a bit puzzled.

"Do you have any grandchildren?" the little darling further inquired.

Cute.

"No, sweetheart," I said, deflated. "What makes you think I'd have grandchildren?"

"'Cause," she said, "you look like you have grandchildren."

I'd like to think it was her way of talking a little trash. She was trying to gain a competitive edge by shaking my steady focus. That's what it was.

Please tell me that's what it was.

Mark Rutledge can be contacted at mrutledge@coxnc.com