Photo Per Day #19: Frozen Ropes

Yesterday was Son #2's last indoor baseball game for the season. With the exception of the other team's coach loudly and continually criticizing (er, I mean coaching) his team, Frozen Ropes is eerily quiet. The sound of the ball hitting the metal bat echoes off the walls. And since it's shrowded in nets to keep the bystanders safe, the rules are somewhat bizarre. Hit the nets on the ceiling directly above the pitcher? Assumed catch. You're out.

Son #2 up to bat and, later, on second base.

Captain Obvious

I spend a few hours each Saturday watching Son #2 play baseball which I love. He's a fabulous pitcher and, on most days, a darned good hitter. And he's super cute. (Biased, I know.)

What I also enjoy is listening to the helpful comments from the dads watching from the sidelines.

"Swing if it's a good pitch."

"Try to hit the ball with the bat."

"Run if you make contact."

"Cover your base."

Really Dr. Smartypants?

At this age, most of the statements are positive reinforcement regardless of outcome. Good eye. Nice swing. And the parents basically root for any kid with a great hit or impressive catch regardless of team. One for all and all for one.

From what I've been told, this is preferable to the maniacal zeal that apparently comes as the kids and teams become more competitive. A fellow mom recently told me that, while her older son was playing a team across town, the home team parents were encouraging unethical plays and hurling slurs about the visiting kids being rich and snooty. After the game, which "our" team won, an upset woman stormed up to the coach and screamed, "I hope you all die on the ride home."

Wow. Lighten up, Francis. And, uh, nice role modeling.

With that said, I'll take a goofy remark any day.

"Pitch it over the plate son."

Line Drive in the Time of Cholera

Last night was the final game of the spring 2009 Little League season. Son #2 was at peak performance again. As I gleaned while reading Outliers a while back, 10K is the magic number at becoming an expert in anything. (Example: the Beatles played ten thousand hours at clubs in Germany before taking the world by storm.) Since Son #2 wakes up ready to play baseball and catch pop flies, line drives and grounders all day long, I'm guessing he should be in the Major League by summer's end. As should we.

Another kid on his team heaved his hands, face and body against the fence while whining to his mom, "I want to go home. Nowwwwwwwwww."

She then turned to us and offhandedly said, "He's just starting to feel better after having the swine flu last week."

SWINE FLU.

Maybe I'm being overly cautious but please, keep him home! Seriously.

Oh, gosh, I hope he's okay. We're just getting over the bubonic plague ourselves.

Bait and Switch Hitting

Before we got married, my husband assured me that he wasn't the type of guy who sat in front of the TV watching football. Oh, thank God!

What he neglected to mention is that he's an avid baseball (Mets) and hockey (Rangers) fan. Two sports that have nightly games and overlapping seasons (i.e., no respite, never, ever). And it doesn't matter if his favorite team is not playing; he'll watch any game.

I don't really mind given that a) I'm much more of a reader and b) he records shows for me. But here's the kicker: The kids have already learned that the remote and the TV are properties of the men in our house. Case in point? They will actually walk into the room where I may be watching TV, pick up the remote and change the channel without thinking twice.

"Dude, did you not notice that I'm watching something?"

"Oh, right, sorry mama. Uh, can I watch baseball?"

The fun part is that they're both totally into Little League this year. And the hubby gave to me a new black leather mitt of my own complete with a pink strip around the wrist. So we spent Sunday afternoon playing baseball on the diamond at school and later in the backyard with our new, rubber bases.

I wonder what the yard is going to look like this summer.

Oh wait, I got my answer!

My Hard Drive Died a Slow Death

In related news, I have a new hard drive and six million emails to sort through.

In unrelated news, we took the boys to a Rochester Red Wings baseball game last night compliments, and in the company, of the little girls across the street who won tickets. I really enjoy being outside on a summer night, under the big lights, watching a ball game. I don't particularly like paying $5/each for crappy dippin' dots ice cream just so my kids can take home the $0.25 plastic helmet for their stuffed animals.

But I love seeing my littlest guy sitting in his seat, eating ice cream, with his feet dangling -- unable to touch the ground. Pretty soon he's going to be big like his brother so, for now, I just want to soak up his cuteness. And that includes seeing how happy he was to put that stupid helmet on his much beloved "monkey" when he got home.