She stood ten feet off of first base, score-book cradled in her left arm as she watched the batter walk up to the plate. First pitch…ball. Second pitch…foul… Third pitch…a hard strike to the third baseman whose glove hit the ball wrong and sent it careening behind him. “Get moving,” she hollered as he scrambled, pounding across first. She walked up to him and gave him a fist bump. He pulled off his glove and threw it down to the ground, almost hitting the first baseman.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to do that.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all right.”
She stepped up and said sarcastically, bending down to pick up the glove “It’s NOT all right with me!” as she reached to take his other.
The first baseman just laughed and said, “You know…that has to be the coolest thing a mom could ever do. You know…coach your baseball team. That’s just really awesome.”
The little round woman holding the gloves and score-book at first smiled about the widest grin ever. Her son, the runner, nodded his head. “Yeah.” He might have rolled his eyes just a bit…but that was okay. Someone thought she was cool.
The next batter was up. She tallied the count in the book. First pitch…was wild. She heard the pounding towards second…her son was already gone.
I haven’t been posting here a lot lately because I got wrangled into coaching a baseball team for the Centre County Baseball League–the oldest men’s amateur baseball league in the state. At some point, I might be able to spit it all out for you. In fact, I’m seriously considering writing a book about my life’s journey with baseball–from being born to a woman who wanted to birth nine boys so she could have her own team–to now– managing a men’s baseball team. It’s a little bit crazy. Crazy good. But crazy. So thanks for putting up with my silence. I always have so much rolling around in my head, it’s tough to stop, sit down, and write it all down.
The end is in sight….only a few games left…unless we win in playoffs.
(I’m not sure whether to keep my fingers crossed or not…) 🙂 Wish us luck!