It’s a Saturday in April. Somewhere in the suburbs, 12-year-olds in matching warm-up jackets jog the bases while a parent, holding two Starbucks cups and a clipboard, shouts out batting orders like it’s Game 7 of the World Series. Meanwhile, on a dusty city field with two working bases and a backstop from the Reagan administration, a team cancels because they can’t field nine kids.
Welcome to the paradox that is youth baseball in America, where there are more travel teams than ever, but fewer kids playing. More $300 gloves and less backyard catch. More “elite showcases” and fewer laughs on the sandlot.
And if you think that’s just a cranky observation from the dugout, well, let’s roll the tape.
According to data from the Aspen Institute’s Project Play, baseball participation among kids aged 6-12 dropped by nearly half-a-million children from 2013 to 2023. That’s not just a dip in the lineup. That’s a whole generation missing the joy of smacking a double off the fence and trotting into second with their helmet half-falling off.
Meanwhile, participation in organized “pay-to-play” baseball has increased. Wait, what?
Yes, fewer kids are playing baseball overall, but the ones who are still around are spending more time and way more money doing it. Private lessons, tournaments, gear, trainers, “mental coaches,” nutrition plans—you name it. You need a second mortgage just to hit cleanup in some neighborhoods.
This isn’t baseball. It’s Baseball Inc.
If you talk to coaches long enough, you’ll hear the same phrase over and over again: “We’ve lost the middle.” There’s rec ball on one end, mostly hanging on by orange slices and volunteer parents. Then there’s elite travel ball, where the tournaments have better lighting than some minor league stadiums.
But what about the kids who just want to play?
“There’s this sense that if you’re not on a travel team by 9 years old, your baseball career is already over,” says Jason Burke, a longtime youth coach in New Jersey. “And that’s just insane. When did we start judging 10-year-olds by launch angle?”
Travel ball was supposed to supplement youth baseball, not swallow it whole. But here we are: an ecosystem where kids are burning out at 13, getting Tommy John surgery at 15, and where a fifth-grader’s swing gets broken down with more slow-mo than a Zack Snyder movie.
Who’s It For, Anyway?
Here’s a thought: Youth baseball is supposed to be for kids.
Not recruiters.
Not scouts.
Not Instagram highlight reels.
Not parents chasing scholarships that probably aren’t coming.
Just. Kids.
Kids who don’t care what their exit velocity is, as long as they got the winning hit and someone bought snow cones afterward. But somewhere along the way, we confused development with dollar signs, and the joy of the game got squeezed out like pine tar in a TSA checkpoint.
“It’s not just about the money,” says Nicole Vasquez, who runs a grassroots baseball clinic in West Philly. “It’s about access. It’s about community. It’s about seeing the game as a vehicle for growth. And we’ve lost that.”
Want to know why baseball thrives in places like the Dominican Republic and Venezuela?
Because kids play it anywhere. Streets. Alleys. Fields. No manicured diamonds. No matching uniforms. Just a stick, a ball, and a dream.
Baseball in America got too clean. Too curated. Too programmed.
We need to bring back the messiness. The fun. The “you bring the bases, I’ll bring the bats” mentality. The crack of the bat on a summer evening when the scoreboard is just someone’s backpack and an old shoe.
Let kids fall in love with baseball again—before we hand them a clipboard and a stats tracker.
Because here’s the thing no one wants to say out loud:
We’re trying so hard to make perfect baseball players, we’re forgetting to make baseball fans.
