There's a small kid named Timmy, or Tammy, we're not sure which (hey, we're making this up on the fly, so cut us some rope here). He, or she, is a 5-year-old kid who signed up for T-ball, or more likely, was signed up for T-ball by his or her parents in an attempt to get the kid off the couch.

	President Bush and his wife Laura will need to move the podium to make room for T-ball.

No big deal. A little exercise, a chance to wear a shirt with a major league logo on the front ("Hey, Dad, I'm a Devil Ray;" "Son, let's go learn soccer."), and spend weekend afternoons with other kindergartners. What could be wrong with that?

Well, it seems that Timmy, or Tammy, is now going to play his or her season opener on the South Lawn of the White House, with George Bush, Bob Costas, Jim Miklaszewski, Jeremy Schaap and Lord knows how many other media busybodies getting in the way of their good time.

Now what 5-year-old needs this on a perfectly good Sunday afternoon?

To begin with, this isn't the regular T-ball experience we're talking about here. There's no snack bar nearby, so the left fielders will not be able to wander off and buy a red rope while the game is going on. There will be security personnel everywhere to make sure the kids don't bend down and tear out clumps of grass the way they do in real T-ball games. And at the White House, none of the parents will feel free to laugh at their own kids when they all converge on a ground ball and collapse onto each other in a glorious pigpile of unrestrained youth.

And heckling other parents' kids? Well, forget about that entirely.

But hey, you have to give up a little bit to get to play the big stage, even if it means playing on a field that doesn't have outfield signs from "Ed's Pawn Shop," "Dr. Milton Arglebargle, Podiatrist To Littler Leaguers Everywhere," and "House Of Jerky."

Here, though, is why this stops being a good idea. While it does give the Prez a forum to advance the cause of youth sports on public land, there is no compelling benefit for the kids in being grilled by the media gargoyles after grounding into that inning-ending triple play at home plate.

Costas: "That was quite a hit there, Timmy, and did your parents let you watch '61*' on HBO the other night?"

Timmy: "Sorry, pal. I watch 'Invader Zim' on Friday nights."

Costas: "Zim? That reminds me of a story about Don Zimmer, the old . . . "

Tammy: "Hey, is there a bathroom around here?"

And that doesn't even scratch the surface of media annoyances that even Alex Rodriguez doesn't face.

CNN Drone: "Hi there, Tiger. Ever heard of Bob Kerrey?"

“

To begin with, this isn't the regular T-ball experience we're talking about here. There's no snack bar nearby, so the left fielders will not be able to wander off and buy a red rope while the game is going on. There will be security personnel everywhere to make sure the kids don't bend down and tear out clumps of grass the way they do in real T-ball games. ”

Scotty: "Why are you standing on my glove?"

Fox News Robot: "Did your parents vote for Bush or Gore?"

Sarah: "Are you in charge of snacks? I'm allergic to Chee-tos."

ESPN Suit: "Hi, there, fella. I'm Rick Sutcliffe from "Baseball Tonight."

Brandon: "You used to be a Cub. My dad told me to watch out for ex-Cubs. He says it could turn me into some kind of spaz."

Kids don't deserve this kind of pressure. Well, actually, there are a few kids who deserve precisely this sort of pressure, but that's a story for the school counselor.

But it's too late to cancel the game, unless of course it rains. That, too, is a danger, because while most parents secretly root for rainouts so as not to have to schlep out to the local playground for a game, you know that the parents who sired the Capital City Rockies and Satchel Paige Red Sox are excited beyond all reason by the chance of playing the big stage.

And you know how kids tend to behave when they know their parents really want something.

"Dad, I can't find my glove."

"I don't want to wear the teal stirrups. I want the black ones."

"But I don't wanna go."

That's the T-ball we know, not this high-fallutin' big-deal production with TV people jockeying for position behind the right fielder and Secret Service agents talking into their collars and parents jostling for position next to Chris Matthews.

In fact, the only saving grace for this whole show may come when the kids actually play the game and forget what laughable asses the adults are making of themselves. The kids know what's important.

"Uh, Kevin, remember how we told you after you hit the ball that you shouldn't throw your bat? You just hit Meredith Vieira in the forehead."

"Sorry. Can I have nachos instead of popcorn after the game? The little things get caught in my retainer."

What do you say to that, except, "Sure, son. Let's go get nachos. Where's your hat? Don't forget your hat. We gotta pay for that if you lose it, you know."

Ray Ratto of the San Francisco Chronicle is a regular contributor to ESPN.com