The softened baseballs came out of the much worn equipment sack yesterday. On a white metal hanger hung the number 3 with my last name on it. After fitting his purple hat with the city's name and logo on it, my son took the field for the first time this year. Cub baseball is the buffer between the tikes running the wrong way after hitting a ball from a tee and the groaning of watching the coach's son walk 15 batters in a row while proud papa keeps encouraging him to hold the ball like an egg and breathe thru his eye lids. The coach seemed confident and knowledgable, especially since he'd taken his 12 year old son's team to state championship and a tournament win in Iowa the past year.
It's my hope my son decides to listen to the guy and pick up the game that carried my stick figure-self thru some tough times growing up. He's not the best nor the worst on the team, but definitely needs an upgrade from the plastic glove obtained three years ago from nana and pa.
Half way thru the practice, just as my wife arrived, my daughter expressed a need for a bathroom break. Luckily my parent's home is right behind the practice field and with a dash made the stop with time to spare. After picking some "flowers" on the return trip she bounced back to the mini playground aside from the barren ice rink and elementary school. The son was dilgently learning the alligator method of covering up grounders while his partner decided to give his best impression of Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams and throw the ball in every direction that was only catchable by Ozzie Smith.
"Dave, I think you better check on YOUR daughter" said the wife.
I was enjoying the move in practice where my son got to line a few hits as his offense is much better then the glove work, but as I turned towards my princess squating under the metal bleachers, much like McD watching Teddy turn over those aces, I knew what had happened. Crying, and a very long walk ensued to clean up what could only be described as taco meat in her Dora underwear that had been left out for two weeks in the sun. After six years of this why my brain clicked on this song is beyond me:
Aside from the accident, baseball season looks to be a good one this year. But, hockey is still being played and Mr. Alex Ovechkin if I may have a word about your epic choke job. Karma is a bitch.