We made it to San Antonio and to Caleb’s baseball game. Now that was some great fun. I don’t know what was more entertaining –
watching three-year-olds “play baseball” or watching their coaches (read here,
Josh and Christi) do everything they could to keep the little ones focused.
I think we had a little bit of everything
in that game. One fellow refused to
leave his Mommy before the game even started.
He was wailing for some reason, and had latched onto her with such force
that she had no choice but to walk away with him. I think the turmoil had something to do with
his “uniform,” a t-shirt. Why do I say
that? Because he returned to the game by
the time it was his turn to bat, but he was now in civilian clothes. Maybe it didn’t fit just right. Maybe he didn’t like his number. Maybe he was afraid aliens would kidnap him
and force him to play baseball on their planet.
I don’t know. But he made it back.
For the team at bat, the goal was to hit
the ball off the tee and run to first base.
That’s all. See, everybody on the
team gets to bat every inning, moving along one base at a time as the next batter
hits. Then the last hitter gets to run
around all the bases, like he has hit a home run. It’s Christi’s responsibility to see that
over the course of the season every child gets a chance to be that last batter,
that home run hitter.
For the team in the field, at least from
Coach Josh’s perspective, the idea is to pick up the batted ball and run with
it over to first base. I guess throwing
it is a bit much to ask at this point in their young careers.
All that being said, my favorite play of
the game, other than anything Caleb did, of course, and not counting assistant
coach Zakary’s foray onto the field to take
his little brother’s hand and personally escort him to the proper positioning, came
when our guys were in the field. They had done a pretty good job of playing –
to borrow terminology from soccer – bunch ball.
Any time the ball was hit, a bunch of them would race over to get it. First one to grab it earned the right to run
with it over to first base. Or, as
happened a time or two, to run over to Mom and Dad (the stands were out near
left field) and show them up close and personal that “I got it, I got it.” This one time, though, the batter hit the
ball and instead of running toward first, he took a slight detour. No, it wasn’t to his mommy (which happened),
or even to the bathroom (which also happened).
This little guy simply followed the ball. He was the first one to it, to his credit, so
he calmly scooped it up and carried it with him over to first base. Oh, and I’m sure the field groundskeepers
appreciate the fact that these little guys were very concerned about the field’s
grooming. Every chance they got, they
squatted down and carefully manicured the dirt around them. Sometimes they even felt obligated to smooth
it out by laying out flat and rolling around in it. No apparent reason other than it looked like a
fun thing to do.
I must admit I was a little bit jealous of
the little guys. Sure looked like
fun. Brought back some fond
memories. Some of the best times I have
ever had happened in the dirt.
Psalms 34:5 says, “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with
shame.”
Father, thanks for the memories. And thank you that Caleb (and his Mom and
Dad) are having a chance to make some as well.
Amen.
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