Keep your eye on the ball

Springtime. Spring training time for 'The Boys of Summer'. Baseball. In this case T-Ball, at the park down the street.
I never played T ball. I started later. The next step, Farm League. Then, two years of Little League.
Farm League was fun. Coaches let you play to your abilities, taught you basic skills and took you for pizza after the games. I played in the outfield and didn't have a care.
When Little League began, I wound up behind the plate as a catcher.
The second year both coaches' sons were the pitchers.
This may not be a true case of nepotism but I just know they were not the right kids for the spot.
They sucked.
The kid in left field that spent his time picking his nose would have done a better job.
I did not want to pitch but I sure wanted someone better than the two prodigal sons that sent me chasing stray pitches to the backstop fence.
I became surly.
Resentful.
Disgusted.
This earned me a new position.
Benchwarmer.
If I wasn't going to play, I wasn't going to sit around.
There were girls that came to the park and a concession stand to hang around.
I wandered from the dugout continuously.
Forget THE GAME, life so I thought
was better on the sidelines.
Soon after, I turned in my uniform and never finished the second season.
I had no drive.
No desire.
No dreams.
No goals.
Its been thirty years since my baseball days as a boy.
Watching them play
the other day in the park
I realize
I still don't know
what I want
to be.
When I grow up...