We had a scrimmage the other day, dads against kids. It wasn't full teams, just six boys, plus my youngest, against six dads, plus my oldest.
The boys score a run. "That's minus eight for you," says one of the dads.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"When you score a run on a double, it's negative runs."
The boys shake their heads in disbelief. A few minutes later, one of them gets called out at second on a force.
"That's not fair," he howls.
His dad looks at him from the outfield. "The Fair's in August. Don't worry about it until then."
Another kid comes up. He points his bat at right field and calls his shot. His old man beans him.
"Looks like you've got 'Rawlings' tattooed on your back," I remark, pulling his shirt back over the blotch on his spine as he huffs and tries to collect himself. "We'll have to get you a matching one that says 'Wilson.'"
My youngest bats. He reaches second and belly-flops on top of it, convinced we'll steal it from under him. Smart kid.
The dads come up to bat. We score on three consecutive quasi-bunts.
"Those runs have a multiplier factor. It's twenty to negative seventeen."
My youngest throws a ball at me. The rest of the boys shriek.
"This game is stupid."
"You're making up rules."
"Cheaters."
We laugh. They're right.
What a great day.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Coach Of The Year, Part 3
Posted by Snag at 10:25 PM
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8 comments:
Sounds a lot like Calvinball, which will be the only game I let my kids play with me.
Next time, make the kids pitch tennis balls for you while you throw regular baseballs for their pitches.
I think if someday you just disappear, I won't be surprised.
I think every 2nd grader should get a little chin music to keep them honest. I always start coach pitch with a brushback...
You are evil. Evil, evil, evil!
Um...Fish?! There is a little thing called RoD. Maybe you could find time now and again to stop by. Godammit.
If I someday just disappear, I hope it's somewhere without an extradition treaty.
I love Calvinball. It pretty much represents my parenting style. We've got a scrimmage tonight and I think I'll try that tennis ball/hard ball thing Chuckles suggests.
Love the beanball after the callout. You have to teach those 37,898 unwritten rules of baseball early.
Reminded me of a time we had kids vs. dads, and my dad tried to take me out on a play at the plate. I just stepped to the side and tagged him.
Brando, my kids would do that, except then they'd spike me on my instep. Little thugs they are.
My older brother tried the whole Hardball/softball thing on me and knocked the tennis ball out of the park. My younger brother and I walked off the field.
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