Kids For Sale

So I was at the gym, and the Little League World Series was on TV. I watched a little of it, and found myself unimpressed.

I don’t mean with the level of play — these are kids, for God’s sake. But I was not impressed that the Little League World Series is on TV. Yes, America. Your kids are now brought to the rest of us by Pennzoil and Gatorade.

To me, it’s exploitation, plain and simple. The problem is we live in an era when exploiting ourselves or our kids is perfectly normal.

The other day I was watching some cooking shows with my daughters on some branch of the Internet or other. They now have cooking shows where kids are competing.

Am I impressed?

Hell, no. Kids should be kids. They shouldn’t be TV stars.

How do I feel about eleven-year-olds getting the golden buzzer on “America’s Got Talent”? Take a wild guess.

“Oh, Michael, you’re just jealous because your kids weren’t good enough to be on any of those shows.”

Who says? Maybe they were and maybe they weren’t. Or maybe my wife and I made a decision that we weren’t going to exploit our children — which today makes us outliers. Adults and children are now falling over themselves to be exploited by the endless need of cable and the Internet to fill programming hours. If your kid can pitch, or knead, or belt out an aria, have we got a TV show for you.

Whatever happened to letting kids be kids?

Let me give you a for-instance. In the Little League World Series the other day, Hawaii was playing . . . I don’t know, let’s say Arkansas. The Arkansas pitcher allowed five runs and then walked the next batter. First and third, two men (okay, two kids) out. Out comes the coach with the hook, calling for the right-hander.

The coach is miked.

Meaning that the whole world, me included, gets to hear his pep talk to his despondent pitcher, who has just you-know-what’d the bed on national — make that international — TV.

“It’s okay,” the coach says kindly, “you’re a competitor. We’re only down by four.”

Or words to that effect. Who was the coach talking to, I wondered — his pitcher, or his international audience? Was he auditioning for a bigger job coaching somewhere else?

That pitcher’s hangdog expression could be seen on every widescreen from here to Krakatoa.

The next pitcher didn’t do much better. He plonked the next batter in the butt and walked a guy before he gave up a near homerun to wrap up the inning.

I sat through innumerable Little League games in the stands when my sons were playing. I would never have wanted their games to be on television. Let kids succeed and fail, and learn how to succeed at failing, in their own homes.

In front of small crowds. Not on national television, for the benefit of Budweiser, or whoever sponsors the Little League World Series.

Sure, it’s fine to see kids succeed, but what twelve-year-old can deal with international stardom? Not too many adults can handle it. Isn’t it a little bit too much pressure to put on a kid?

If one kid is going to win the baking contest, the others are all going to lose. Yet every parent is seemingly fine with letting his or her kid lose on national television.

A year or so after I graduated from Amherst College, the then-fledgling ESPN approached our legendary football coach, James Ostendarp, and asked if our big game, Amherst-Williams, could be shown on ESPN.

Remarkably, he refused. He said that televising the game would violate the spirit of small college football. Unfortunately, that’s not how people feel today. I’m sure that, of a fine November Saturday afternoon, you can find Amherst-Williams on ESPN 37 or some such.

If I had my way, they would not air the Little League World Series, or baking shows with children, and you would have to be 18 or at least 16, to appear on America’s Got Talent.

Of course, nobody asked for my opinion. They never do.

But now you have it anyway.