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.
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.
This earned me a new position.
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.
Its been thirty years since my baseball days as a boy.
Watching them play
the other day in the park
I still don't know
what I want
When I grow up...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Everyone wants to be an advice columnists. Or at least , I refer to the people that have advice, when you really aren't soliciting it. You share a piece of your life. Some minor dilemma or you just open up a little when they get tired of talking about themselves and insincerely ask about you.
Their immediate response is, "Oh, you know what you need to do..."
This is generally about the point where I want to respond, " No, but I know where you can go..."
I can probably count on one hand, at most, the times this opening line of advice was followed by something enlightening, inspiring or beneficial.