Coach Of The Year, Part 2

The other night at baseball one of the kids came up to us after practice. He's a 9-year-old.

"Hey coach."

"Hey bud. You were hitting pretty well out there tonight."

"Yeah. Sure. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I'm never going to be a major leaguer."

"You never know," we told him.

"It doesn't matter, he said. "Music's my passion. I want to be a rock star."

"That's good too."

"I think so. By the way, who's the team parent?"

We told him.

"Thanks," he said and started walking away.

This could be a problem.

"Wait a second, come back here," I yelled. "Why do you want to know?"

"I need to talk to her about my uniform."

"About what?" I asked.

"I don't like my last name. I'm going to tell her to put something else on it."

"Um, sorry, that's not going to work," I told him. "Everybody's going to be using their real names."

"Last year my coach called me Sporto."

"Well, we'll call you anything you want," I said, "but you still need your real name on your jersey."

"Okay. Will you call me Slorn?"

I shrugged. "I guess, if you want me to. Coach P., you okay with that?"

Coach P. rolled his eyes and said, "Sure."

I looked at the kid and said, "You're kind of a goofball, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he replied as he headed toward the parking lot. "We have a lot of goofballs in my class. A couple of idiots too."

It's going to be an interesting season.