Two of my favorite things converge this week: baseball and children.

The Little League World Series begins on Wednesday in what has become an annual celebration in Hawaii. You can hear the cheers while walking down the street in my neighborhood, as every television seems to be tuned to the youngsters’ journey in Williamsport, Pa.

It’s like Manny Pacquiao is fighting again.While my neighbors enjoy themselves root-root-rooting for the home team, I won’t be among them. I just can’t handle it. I guess I am just weak.

The best part of youth baseball is the smiles and the pure joy. But that has a flip side. For every smile there is a frown, for every happy tear is a sad one. And the sad tears get me every time.

Any time ESPN’s cameras feature a joyous scrum at home plate following a home run, my eyes can’t help but see an adolescent on the mound crying like his world is crumbling around him. The network tries to spare me the agony of defeat, but it’s always there.

It makes me wonder how young is too young. I am in my 50s and I am not sure how I would handle having millions of eyes on the grounder that just went through my legs. I am quite sure how I would have handled it when I was 11 years old, and it would have involved a lot of tears and rage. That these kids don’t leave a puddle of urine in the batter’s box is just another example of how amazing they are. I am all for the concept of the participation trophy. Given all of the pressures kids today face, it is the least we can do.

The Poynter Review Project told us that the tears are a good thing, that they are a healthy emotion and this is a chance to talk about it. That is an enlightened way of looking at what is on some level exploitation of children for a $76 million TV contract. If the current broadcasters didn’t pony up the cash, another one would, but in my utopia I would hope there would be at least one thinking adult on at least one side of the table when it comes to sign the deal. Just one person to look inward and ask the others, ‘This is a LOT of money, but is it the right thing for the kids?’

When you see a child in a Little League uniform fundraising in front of a grocery store, keep that television contract in mind. An organization with assets approaching $100M expects its stars to panhandle for equipment or travel costs even after asking them for the $120 registration fee. I realize that local leagues have to pay for things like insurance and background checks, but a parent paying good money for their child to play baseball is a sure sign of the times.

Even this year’s Hawaii champion was forced to set up a gofundme page. This isn’t like those tournaments where the only qualification is paying a fee and booking a flight to Orlando, Fla., or Cooperstown, N.Y., for the chance to call itself a champion. This is the LITTLE LEAGUE WORLD SERIES POWERED BY ESPN.

For the few innings I have been able to stomach, it strikes me how lucky we are and how it could be so much worse. Honolulu manager Gerald Oda seems like a saint and his kids every year seem to follow his example. There really is a lot of sportsmanship on display, like the kid who recently hugged a crying pitcher after being beaned.

Anyone who has been to a regular Little League game knows that what is shown on television is not what you see in the regular season, with screaming coaches and parents unknowingly toying with their children’s’ emotions. It was the same in my day — a Little League career consisting of about five games because of a broken thumb (play at the plate) and broken elbow (catcher’s interference) — and judging by my walks past Mauka Lani Neighborhood Park it has not changed a bit.

I have watched plenty of games on that field, but you know what I have never seen? A pickup game. For all of the orchestration that goes on in building little Micah into a big-time ballplayer, there is no time to just go across the street and come back when the streetlights come on. That’s sad.

Back when I covered the Little Leaguers, they would let me in on a little secret. The most fun to be had in a glorious week in Williamsport is found where the cameras are not allowed. There is a diamond on the campus where the athletes bunk up, and the players all say that the best games could be found there, just a pickup game with players mixed from all over the world and no adults allowed.

Put that on my television and I would watch it every time.