Baseball Love

I am hoarse.

From cheering at today's baseball games. I lost all self control. One notch higher and I might have embarrassed my kids. Bruce even told me to tone it down a bit, because I was distracting Clay.

He mentioned that more than once. Probably because I didn't listen to him.

You have to know the history. And I'm not talking about all the smack talk I've given the sport of baseball in the last few weeks on this very blog. (That's not history. I'm sure I'll repeat it again next year.)

No, I mean immediate history. After Clay's game Friday night, as we were walking to the truck, he told me, "Tomorrow we play the Rockies. That's Parker's team. They're the only team to beat us this year."

Parker used to go to our church. He and Clay go to the same school and were born one day apart nearly eight years ago.

Parker is athletic.

Very. Athletic.

And his parents are rabid baseball fans. His grandparents are, too. (I'm writing that knowing that they'll see it. They can't deny it! Daddy Don coaches the Rockies, and I heard Momma Amie cheering louder than me. And I'm pretty sure I've seen those grandparents at every game... so there!)

This is a word picture of Clay. Taken from today's game. During three different times that he was in the outfield, he spoke directly to me. (Spencer was also playing today, so I stood in my spot between the fields so I could cheer for both boys.)

Here's Clay's first statement: "Mom, I heard June bugs. They're coming back."

His second statement: "There is a nest in the dugout."

His third statement was also not remotely related to baseball. By this time of the game, he was hot and sweaty and had taken his hat off his head. "Mom, I think I have head lice."

He scratched his head for emphasis.

I'm sure every other parent on his team who overheard was thrilled that my son was sharing batting helmets with their son.

He does not have head lice.

He does have issues with focus. A lack thereof.

It was a great game. That is the highest praise you'll get from me about baseball. Each team's score went back and forth the whole time. For a bit the Rockies would be winning, and then the Rangers would pull ahead for awhile.

The teams were well matched. Both teams are coached by men who love the sport, teach the sport, and love the kids. Both teams as a group know what to do and when to do it. The Rockies are the only other team that I've noticed this season stealing bases, aside from Clay's team.

Finally, the last inning. Clay came up to bat with two other players on bases. The Rockies' score was 9; the Rangers had 8. There was already one out, and all I could think was, "Thank you, Jesus, that my son does not have this whole game on his shoulders right now."

Because he has consistently struck out every time he's been at bat the last several times.

And he did it again at that moment. Again, I was crushed for him.

I rebounded quickly as his teammate came up to bat. All pressure was on that child, a great kid. He is, however, several pounds overweight and runs slowly because of it. He has struggled all season long to make it to first base after he hits the ball. But he does hit the ball. And with other boys on base, who cares if he can make it to first base? He just needed to hit the ball.

He went up to bat and quickly got two strikes. I think he was just milking the crowd, but what do I know?

Next, he hit the ball. And he did make it to first base. And he also got his other teammates to home.

The final score was Rangers - 10, Rockies - 9. I've never seen Clay's team so excited.

On the way back to the truck, I noticed a Rockies player giving Clay a really dirty look. I felt bad for him. Because they played great! So I told him so. His look didn't soften any, but his mother's did.

Now, for a bit on my other two children.

Spencer has taken to sliding into home base. Only his timing is off. He runs over the base, is technically home, and then starts his slide a couple feet past the base. It's a riot.

He picks himself up from the dust, checks the damage to his uniform, sports a self-satisfied smile and struts back to the dugout. He dusts himself off only after he is in the dugout.

That kid is crazy funny.

Allison has an admirer.

Bruce walked over to Clay's team's dugout at one point in the game, and Allison followed him. A teammate of Clay's piped up with, "How old is she?" Clay told him five. Then Mr.-Eight-Year-Old said, "She's pretty."

My thoughts?



Wrong game obviously, but it's apparent to me that Clay is not the only person on his team who lacks focus.

So I gave our sons a talk about their sister when we got home.

Because this is what I heard after dropping Clay off at school one morning this week. (Listen to it. It's short.)

Great stuff!

I told my sons that as Allison gets older, any boy who shows an interest in her should know they have to get through three men to have a chance to date her... her brothers and her daddy.

She already thinks she is a princess. A boy should be ready to treat her that way.

I'm just saying.