Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Baseball Season

I remember as a child, every spring piling into my mother's van and heading to the ball fields. It was an important time of the year to me a child. I loved sports. I grew up in a household where playing sports was important. We watched a lot of sports on television (football being my favorite-American football, not soccer mind you)(My dad called Soccer a communist sport because you couldn't use your hands)(It was the 80s after all). Playing sports however was the biggest thrill. I loved starting off each year by going to the sports store and picking out a new glove, some cleats (plastic spikes shoes to help keep your grip on the dirt) and trying out every single bat in the store- even though I knew there was no way we were getting a new bat too.

Baseball season was fun. I loved every second of it. It didn't matter if it was sitting there in the grueling hot sun watching my younger brothers game, with a snow cone slowly melting down my arm, or playing in a game of my own; it was all fun. I also made a ton of new friends each summer and would spend time between games down by the creek that ran along next to the fields skipping rocks and finding crayfish with my new friends. Then of course getting yelled at by my mom for coming back to where the adults were sitting soaking wet. As kids do.

So, this year I signed LaLa up to play baseball. I think I am almost more excited than she is! She and I have been spending a bit of time in the afternoons in the backyard practicing her batting stance, and hitting the ball. She is actually getting pretty good at making contact with the ball and of course will be hitting home runs in no time. However, much to my chagrin she has taken to calling baseball...cricket. My poor confused child.

So yesterday evening I took her out into the back yard again for more hitting practice and tried to explain the rules of baseball. It was a bit like the comedy classic bit "Who's on First" by Abbot and Costello.



Me- "So if you get 4 balls, you remember pitches that go outside the strike zone that you don't swing at, you get to walk to first base."

Her- "Why would I want go to first base?"

Me- "Because that's how you score runs."

Her- "Which way do I run?"

Me- "To first base"

Aye yai yai...I have a lot more explaining to do to her. You better believe that I will be in the stands though, cheering on my poor confused daughter- who is destined to play first base for the Chicago Cubs (when baseball starts signing girls)- and doing my best Harry Caray impressions.

Holy Cow!!!!




Here's to Baseball season.