September 16, 2009

Hanging 'Em Up

It happens too always does, but my youngest son, Adam, decided that he no longer wanted to play baseball. So after being a fixture around the Little League complex for 7 years, it's time to "hang 'em up."

After the Game

I’m going to miss that reddish clay that turns to mud on rainy days

I’m going to miss the rakes and things, and lining basepaths with long white strings

I’m going to miss that child’s thirst for one day being safe at first

I’m going to miss this Little League, but my 10 year old says he’s too big.

For 7 short years I’ve been a part of this game that has brought us all together

It gave me hope, it brought me joy, it made me curse the weather.

“Let’s hustle out there,” is the coaches refrain,

“Which boy is yours? “What is your name?”

“Who here can pitch?” is asked on day 1, and 10 hands reach for the sky

And when not an arm can reach home plate it’s enough to make you cry.

The socks are too big, the shirt is too small, “My son hasn’t gotten a hustle ball.”

“Can I have a team drink?” “Hey, what do you think, can this team win it all?”

But we wait for that day when bat finally meets ball for that kid who has struggled all year

Because that “0 for the season” that we have nightmares about, is a coaches biggest fear.

5 tools are the dream, but not for these kids, just a ball, a glove, and a bat

Winning is never as important as getting that brand new Rays hat.

So if you see an old guy, hanging round King Street, looking like he’s lost his son

Invite him on out to shag some fly balls, he really just misses the fun.

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