By the time the majority of you read this it’ll be Friday. In fact, it’s technically Friday but I’m still awake from Thursday…Therefore it’s still Thursday to me…The logic makes sense in my mind…
It’s also mid-term week of my Senior year so I’m not thinking clearly anyway (this is also why I’ve not been posting much).
I arrived back in to my dorm room this evening and began brainstorming ideas for a Throwback Thursday post. Last time I told you about my 3rd grade crush India and how she utterly destroyed my poor, young heart. If you haven’t read it, check it out here.
This week I wanted to take you back to my little league days. I wanted to walk you back to the time that I ruled the diamond, swayed all of the little ladies with my talent, and embarrassed myself in front of all of my toddler friends. I’m taking you guys all the way back to “Coach Pitch” baseball.
Here’s a little background for you: My father played baseball for a long period of time growing up. He donned the catcher’s mask and guarded the plate with his skill as a catcher. I’m pretty sure he told me one time that he could squat somewhere around 500-600 lbs of weight. Mhm, my dad was a hoss and a pretty decent ball player too!
This legacy of talent found itself being transferred to me from a very young age. I was involved with baseball from the time I could hold a glove and swing a bat. Part of this was growing up in the little league program of our community. Each year in the Fall and Spring, boys and girls from Kindergarten-5th grade would don their caps, hit the diamond, and then have a snack time after each game (win or lose). I was no exception to this. I played for the majority of elementary age days. One thing I was an exception to was the talent and common sense of baseball that my father held. If I were to put it simply I’d just say I wasn’t fit to be a baseball player.
Ask my dad. Training me was a pain. I developed a nasty habit of stepping outside of the box every time I swung the bat. Not only that but I would do a little ballerina dance to top it all of. I’m sure you can imagine my father’s embarrassment. To fix this problem he would take me to the back yard and pitch to me. One day he had finally reached his boiling point. To help me get over my fear of the ball he placed a step ladder right behind my feet. If I happened to step outside of the box or do my little dance I’d bust my tail and a ladder.
Let’s just say that it worked and it worked quickly.
Even after being poured into I still lacked the basic necessities of being a decent toddler all-star. I’d sit the bench most games, cheer on my toddler friends, and beg my mom for a gatorade every two minutes. My dad was typically my coach and I always figured that being his son would grant me a starting spot…Nope. I’d always look over his shoulder (as he chose the starting lineup) before games in hopes that my name would be in the starting nine (rarely…I’m not bitter or anything).
The dugout was typically a place of solitude and hilarity. I enjoyed when my teammates were playing defense because I got the whole bench to myself. I distinctly remember plopping my 7 year old toosh down on one of the ball buckets to have a rest. My mom happened to look in at one point and was sure that I was pooping in it. No mother…I was not pooping in a ball bucket in the dugout…My baseball career was not getting off to a good start.
The instance I really want to tell you about also happened in the dugout but it was when we were batting. My friends, all sitting down on the bench, were chewing their sunflower seeds, prepping their gear for their next at-bat, and I was pacing the dugout floor (bored out of my mind). I’m sure that I had counted the amount of sunflower seeds littering the ground about five different times when something caught my eye. On the bench, sitting all by its lonesome, was a large, plastic item. I walked over to it and grasped it within my hands: triangular in shape, curved out in the middle, and a little rubbery. I honestly thought that it was a little humorous with its shape and all.
In defense of my ignorance, I truly thought it looked like a sabre-toothed tiger’s tooth. I was excited! What a find! I quickly turned to my friends (who were sitting on the bench), placed the tooth-shaped item up underneath my upper lip (as a sabre-tooth tiger looks), and exclaimed “Hey guys! Look, it’s my tooth! haha”
I received a mixed reaction. Some laughed, others shouted “ewww”, and then someone perked up and said, “That’s a cup! Don’t put it in your mouth!”
Once again, in defense of my childish ignorance, I had no clue as to what a cup was or where it was meant to be placed. I, as a young, naive 7 year old thought it was harmless; just an object placed on the bench for my entertainment, right? Shortly after, I found out what a cup was and what it protected.
I quit little league baseball a year or so later.
I’d like to say that I went on to make high school history but the truth is that I sat the bench there too. I can thankfully say that I never made the mistake of putting any unknown piece of equipment up to my mouth again though. I left it where I found it. Sometimes it takes me a few times to learn a lesson but that was a lesson I remembered for decades following.
Moral of the story: Google it before you make a fool of yourself and then thank me later.
Check back tomorrow for my newest, sarcastic “Top Ten Confessions”. This time I’ll be giving us ten reasons why Bernie Sanders would make a great president. 😉