A Brushed Sack Reminds You to Look Alive
Monday, crazy fun day at work. Ok, not really as much fun as a person can have but it was busy til the end and that made it go by quickly.
Picked up the boy right after school and got him a grilled cheese. We did decodable reader, found his flashcards, played catch and then headed off to baseball practice.
The kids are finally old enough and organizable enough to have full, energetic practice with multiple balls going back and forth in infield practice, live bp, the works. The Brothers Swaff are great with the kids and it is fun to see them working hard on this great game. Ya gotta keep your head on a swivel with these kids tho, they're nine and ten and every once in a while someone is going to miss their target and the new (hopefully unintended) target might just be you.
I caught the bp. No coach pitch, and our pitchers needed a target. The good news is Alex was actually the first batter to make contact tonight. The pitchers always start out ahead of the hitters, even in the Mustang league. The bad news is, Alex made contact after the ball made contact with him. On his fourth pitch he took one right off the elbow. He crumpled. Now this is the first year we're playing real baseball out there so I resisted the urge to scoop him in my arms and run with him, screaming "My poor sweet angel!" get in the car and drive the hell out of there.
He kept his face down for a minute. Then got up, shook himself off and moved the elbow. Then he wiggled his fingers and walked around. I said gently, "Alex the kids all get five pitches. You've got one more here. Why don't you step back into the box and take one more cut? You ok? You think you wanna do that pal?"
He picked up his helmet, grabbed his bat and swung with some bad intent. He knocked that last pitch hard down the first base line. It went foul but I was so proud of him. He hit it and ran down to first. Later, we iced the arm down with an ice cream sandwich. Then he ate the ice cream sandwich.
Even dad was not immune to the mild hazards of hardball. While I was catching, I missed one in the dirt. It skidded under me, brushed me in the AJ's (not hard but sometimes getting grazed is worse than getting hit there because you think, "Man that coulda been really, really bad"
I also had an ice cream sandwich.
God Bless this great game of baseball.
Picked up the boy right after school and got him a grilled cheese. We did decodable reader, found his flashcards, played catch and then headed off to baseball practice.
The kids are finally old enough and organizable enough to have full, energetic practice with multiple balls going back and forth in infield practice, live bp, the works. The Brothers Swaff are great with the kids and it is fun to see them working hard on this great game. Ya gotta keep your head on a swivel with these kids tho, they're nine and ten and every once in a while someone is going to miss their target and the new (hopefully unintended) target might just be you.
I caught the bp. No coach pitch, and our pitchers needed a target. The good news is Alex was actually the first batter to make contact tonight. The pitchers always start out ahead of the hitters, even in the Mustang league. The bad news is, Alex made contact after the ball made contact with him. On his fourth pitch he took one right off the elbow. He crumpled. Now this is the first year we're playing real baseball out there so I resisted the urge to scoop him in my arms and run with him, screaming "My poor sweet angel!" get in the car and drive the hell out of there.
He kept his face down for a minute. Then got up, shook himself off and moved the elbow. Then he wiggled his fingers and walked around. I said gently, "Alex the kids all get five pitches. You've got one more here. Why don't you step back into the box and take one more cut? You ok? You think you wanna do that pal?"
He picked up his helmet, grabbed his bat and swung with some bad intent. He knocked that last pitch hard down the first base line. It went foul but I was so proud of him. He hit it and ran down to first. Later, we iced the arm down with an ice cream sandwich. Then he ate the ice cream sandwich.
Even dad was not immune to the mild hazards of hardball. While I was catching, I missed one in the dirt. It skidded under me, brushed me in the AJ's (not hard but sometimes getting grazed is worse than getting hit there because you think, "Man that coulda been really, really bad"
I also had an ice cream sandwich.
God Bless this great game of baseball.
posted by edP | 4:24 AM
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