Finally, we, "Play ball!"

Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd, buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don't care if we blah, blah, blah, I forgot the words. All I remember is for it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game!

Bosworth has not had a pee - wee baseball team for 3 years. (I think someone said that.) That means when Clint decided to go all George W. on me and unilaterally decide that WE were going to coach pee - wee baseball there was no established group of players to build from. Let me at least say this: if you want to be forced to work on your communication skills in marriage, save the money you would spend on a counselor and just coach little league together. Believe me, they don't make you pay a fee to coach and it's just as effective as the expensive pyschologist. Oh, and when you start arguing with one another the whole town plus all the people from another rural town close to home get to watch you. And we're in Jerry Springer country. Come to think of it, the entire US of A is Jerry Springer country these days so never mind.

I put into print all of the above ramblings to say that after 13 practices and four rain outs, last night we were told to "play ball"! Yee -haw! It was more like a rodeo. I would basically compare it to the times when I was a child and my dad and brothers tried to load hogs into the truck to go to the sale barn. Let's see if I can give you an accurate picture. Here's the cast of characters:

My dad - lead hog wrangler vs. Clint - the head coach.
My brothers Thad and Tim - assistants vs Myself and cousin Reg, the base coaches
My mom - the concerned person on the fence vs The parents sitting on the fence
Me and my sister - the cheerleaders (laughers) vs well, you get the picture

I'll save you the long version and give you the highlights.

Dalton has been at YFC basketball camp all week playing BASKETBALL, not BASEBALL. Put that thought on the sticky side of your brain because we'll come back to it. So.......Dalton is the catcher for our team. Out of desperation Daddy put him on first base in the 4th inning. He's never played first base so his instincts kicked in.....his BASKETBALL instincts. When the runner came toward him and he didn't have the ball, he guarded him. I AM NOT KIDDING! While he has both hands and feet moving trying to intimidate this kid from even thinking about touching 1st base our short stop slings the ball at Dalton's turned head. I'm out of the dugout at this point frantically screaming for my child to WATCH THE BALL! There was no blood. None from the loose ball flying through the air AND none from Dalton trying to keep the runner from touching 1st base. He really is a great basketball player.

Our rover position, bless his 7 year old heart, never knew anyone hit the ball last night. And the other team scored 22 runs. He just never saw the ball get hit or come at him. And the two sweet little girls who were playing center and right field repeatedly pointed at one another when the ball would fly past the rover kid. They would not go get the ball. They'd even holler at one another, "I'm not going. It's yours." "No. It's yours." You can imagine Clint and I yelling at them from the dugout at this point: SOMEBODY GET THE BALL!!!

My Dad's favorite part of the game was in the final inning. We were behind 22 to 3. (That is no type - o.) Our kids started to rally. They were finally over the stage fright and were understanding a few more concepts. We were getting runs! One of our best hitters got up with the bases loaded and pounded it. The little child on first ran to second and stopped. We're yelling and screaming for her to run. Nothin. So I run straight for her, screaming, "Run! Run!" When I (and the child who hit the ball) were within 5 feet of her she finally took off for third. Clint said, "I was afraid. I didn't know what you were going to do when you made it to 2nd if she didn't start running!" We ended up getting 8 runs to their 22.

I would love to say that these were the only parts of the game that were hilarious but they were not. I could go on and on. I mainly included the pieces that incriminated only myself.:-)

We haven't played any games and probably won't get to but we have had fun at the practices. We love this group of kiddos. And they like my cookies! What kid doesn't like homemade cookies?! Well, there's one, but we're not going to tell Grandma Houseworth that he won't eat her chip chocolates, peanut butter criss - crosses, OR oatmeal. But he can catch the ball and that's a commodity at this point so all is forgiven.

Here's my Friday Favorite Quote:
The best baseball is backyard baseball. - Grandma Mary (My mom)

Isn't that the truth! If you've never played baseball in your backyard (do people like you really exist?!) then definitely get out there and get started.

Happy Friday!

Margie