The Curse of the Homerun
I don't think I will give up my day job just yet and become a motivational speaker. Not that I actually have a day job.
Yesterday was baseball from 8:00 in the morning until about 4:30 in the afternoon.
I often think it is some sort of divine retribution that I, who despise sports so fully, would end up with boys who love nothing more than participating in sports, any sports.
That I, who think a good time in the sun involves laying down, moving only my eyes to read and my lips to suck my fruity drink, would end up with sons who need me to run, jump, cheer, and not lay down at all in the sun.
That I, who cringe and cover my face when a ball is tossed near me, would have to watch balls thrown 70 miles per hour perilously close to my sons' faces.
That I, who hate to get dirty and sweat, would be faced daily with more stinky laundry than a frat house.
There is a God, I say. And he is vindictive.
So we had four baseball games back to back at different locations. The locations did have something in common though, they were all muddy and freezing cold, with a wind that chapped our faces and caused us all to collectively wonder if it was really March.
My oldest son, of the-hit-an-out-of-the-park-homerun-and-now-has-a-head-so-large-we-had- to-put-extenders-on-the-back-of-his-baseball-cap-fame, he had a double header yesterday. He got up to bat 7 times. He struck out five of those times. FIVE. It was painful to watch. The other two times he grounded out. His little feet, or huge flippers if we are striving for accuracy, never touched first base.
He cried. This is permissible according to The Code of Boys (ages 11-12) which allows for crying when you miss important plays. The Code of Boys (ages 11-12) allows you to cry from physical pain only if there is lots of blood or requires a trip to the hospital in an ambulance. At least this is what I can make out from my vantage point as an outsider.
On the positive side, his baseball cap now fits again and he no longer resembles a bobble-head.
Yesterday was baseball from 8:00 in the morning until about 4:30 in the afternoon.
I often think it is some sort of divine retribution that I, who despise sports so fully, would end up with boys who love nothing more than participating in sports, any sports.
That I, who think a good time in the sun involves laying down, moving only my eyes to read and my lips to suck my fruity drink, would end up with sons who need me to run, jump, cheer, and not lay down at all in the sun.
That I, who cringe and cover my face when a ball is tossed near me, would have to watch balls thrown 70 miles per hour perilously close to my sons' faces.
That I, who hate to get dirty and sweat, would be faced daily with more stinky laundry than a frat house.
There is a God, I say. And he is vindictive.
So we had four baseball games back to back at different locations. The locations did have something in common though, they were all muddy and freezing cold, with a wind that chapped our faces and caused us all to collectively wonder if it was really March.
My oldest son, of the-hit-an-out-of-the-park-homerun-and-now-has-a-head-so-large-we-had- to-put-extenders-on-the-back-of-his-baseball-cap-fame, he had a double header yesterday. He got up to bat 7 times. He struck out five of those times. FIVE. It was painful to watch. The other two times he grounded out. His little feet, or huge flippers if we are striving for accuracy, never touched first base.
He cried. This is permissible according to The Code of Boys (ages 11-12) which allows for crying when you miss important plays. The Code of Boys (ages 11-12) allows you to cry from physical pain only if there is lots of blood or requires a trip to the hospital in an ambulance. At least this is what I can make out from my vantage point as an outsider.
On the positive side, his baseball cap now fits again and he no longer resembles a bobble-head.
12 Comments:
Ahhh yes.
We had baseball yesterday too.
It was NOT cold here though.
My son had two nice hits and a third that was called an out at first.
It was not an out.
His season is done.
My oldest son has 4 games this week.
woohoo.
Aw. Poor kid.
I have to say that if you were actually lying down in the sun with the fruity drink, I'd bet you five bucks that you'd be missing the baseball. ;)
My son had his last game this week. I understand the bobble-head phenomenon. His team went from undefeated, to losing their last three games in a row. The whole team is a bit deflated. Seems kind of a hard lesson for 7-8 yr olds, who only a few short years ago cared more about the snack than anything. Ah, the good ole' days! :)
Awwww...the tales of a baseball mom! I enjoy reading about your boys, my 3 also play baseball. (One of them plays year-round- Summer and Fall on a travel team) I always hope that the travel team picks great places with good shopping malls and at the very least a Starbucks and a Krispy Kreme nearby. But no, we go to places like: Bakersfield and Modesto...why can't the mom's pick the locations? I could live without the politics of baseball, they are at every level. It's too bad, the kids just want to play the game...Oh don't get me started! Keep up the fun stories, makes me remember some good and not so good times! ~Kim~
Ah... So there is crying in baseball!
I cringe when I think of the day that a ball will be thrown at any of my children's heads with that speed.
I don't know how you can watch that but I can understand not wanting to miss the great moments, when they do happen.
At least his hat fits again.
awwww...poor little feller.
I can sympathize. Harrison had 2 games today and was so ticked at himself for striking out once and missing a grounder at shortstop. His coach almost benched him because his attitude was so bad. I hope his next game goes better.
I'm sorry.
I can remember days like that when I was a kid. Those were terrible. How great, however, that you are able to support them even though it pains you to do so - many parents wouldn't even bother.
Our Okapis are 3.5 yrs and I have started to teach them a little b-ball and catching and throwing. I dream of playing sports with both of them (boy and girl). I worry about pressuring them to play and have to hold back so I don't do that. Watch me end up with kids who HATE sports. Maybe we could trade if that happens???
Remember the 'baseball as a metaphor for life' thing. It goes for the good days and the bad days, right?
For various reasons, my son, age 8, is playing baseball for the first time this year. In one game last week he made three outs at second base and hit two home runs. This may not seem remarkable to most people, but it makes me cry every time I think of it. My son only has one hand.
Remember, they (and you) will learn much more from their failures than they do from their success.
Jean
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