Who Says Soccer is Boring?

Kyra's been bugging us for about a year to sign her up for a soccer league. Here's the rub, she hates running. Despite our numerous reminders that soccer is NOTHING BUT running (with a little kicking on the side), and against our better judgment, we finally caved in. If anything, it'll be good exercise for her, and who knows, she might end up enjoying running her tail off.

Her first practice was this week, and her coaches started them off with a number of drills: 2 lines, kick the ball this way, kick the ball that way, kick the ball this other way. Watching little kids with barely any control over their motor skills trying to maneuver a soccer ball in and out of a line of orange cones was less than enthralling. I nodded off in my camping chair when, out of nowhere, one of the fathers sitting near me bursts out, "HEY!". I started, then looked around and figured he was yelling at his kid who was screwing around in his drill line. ALL the kids were screwing around in the drill lines. I nodded off again when barely a minute later the dude exploded.

"HEY YOU! RIGHT THERE!"

In a flash he was out of his chair, racing toward the nearest line of kids. I looked up and noticed a little blonde-haired kid doubled over on the ground, clutching his stomach and bawling. Another boy stood next to him, wide-eyed. Crazy Dad towered over him, then got right in his face, "WHO'S YOUR PARENT?"

One of the coaches looked up, startled at the stream of events unfolding before her, and sighed, "He's mine. What did he do?"

"HE PUNCHED MY KID IN THE STOMACH!"

Coach sat her kid down under a tree and Crazy Dad returned to his seat while all of us other parents pretended not to notice his insane outburst. He seemed to go a little over the top, but who knows, maybe I would have reacted the same way if it was my kid getting punched. Regardless, it was a tense first practice and an interesting introduction to the sport of soccer. After practice, I gave Kyra two directives: stay away from the coach's kid, and don't piss off the blonde-haired kid, thus pissing off the blonde-haired kid's dad. Actually, #2 was for more for me. I'd rather not have to tangle with that guy.

ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.

I - L- L !

Illinois continued it's trend of upsetting ranked opponents by beating #5 Wisconsin 31-26, which means the Illini might quite possibly be the real deal this year. I about fell out of my chair when I saw the final score on ESPN.com (a Disney company). I heard all of the pregame hype where the "experts" predicted an upset, but I wouldn't allow myself to believe it (the way I believed their hype about the Cubs over the D'backs. Fool me once...). It's about time. Keep it up Orange & Blue!

OSKEE-WOW-WOW!!

Che-he! Che-ha! Che-ha-ha-ha!
Go Illini, Go!
Che-he! Che-ha! Che-ha-ha-ha!
Go Illini, Go!
Illinois! Illinois! Illinois!

Illinois upset #21 Penn State today and is 4-1 on the season, 2-0 in the Big Ten. I think Illinois had only won 4 games the past three seasons. To say that I'm happy is an understatement.

Oh yeah, and in case you haven't heard, the Cubs are in the playoffs. I'm shuttin' up now.

Fall. Ball. Fall Ball.

Last weekend was opening weekend for the girls' Fall softball league. Here are the stats to bring you up to speed:

New Team Name: Dragons

New Colors: Red, black, & White

New Uniforms: Cool



Number of Uniforms Owned in 2007: Kailey - 3; Kyra - 2

Funding for New Uniforms: Car Wash






Number of Practices Per Week: 2

Number of Games Per Week: 2 - A double-header on Saturday Mornings

Alarm Settings for Saturday Mornings: 6:00 a.m.



Dragons' Record As of Week 2: 2-1-1

Kailey's Batting Average After 4 Games: 1.000

Kyra's Batting Average After 4 Games: .000

Number of Times Daddy's Told Kyra Not to Swing at Crap Over Her Head: 1,312

Number of Times Daddy's Told Kyra Not to Swing at Crap in the Dirt: 4

Number of Times Daddy's Told Kyra to Pay Attention: 1 million

Number of Remaining Games for Kyra to "Adjust" to the Older League: 16

Of All The Days to Start Fasting...

...from television: opening day of the NFL season, and I saw NONE of it. Nada.

My class assignment this week is to fast from television for 72 hours, then write a reaction paper describing the experience. Seeing as how I WATCH TV FOR A LIVING, putting your very favoritest shows on your wide screen HD TV for your viewing pleasure, I burst into laughter upon reading it. I'm not addicted to television, and with the exception of watching LOST, which doesn't come back until January, I could probably find many more worthwhile things to do with my time than watch TV. In fact, if it were up to me, I would watch very little TV while at home. The hard part is not getting enticed when Diane and the girls watch TV. Since Diane only watches reality shows, and the girls watch Disney, Cartoon Network, and Nickelodeon, this shouldn't be too hard. So I decided to give the assignment the good ol' college try. Sorry.

I was 100% with the program until about 7:30 this morning when a thought sat me bolt upright in bed...THE BEARS PLAY THE CHARGERS TODAY! FOR REAL! I broke into a cold sweat. How could I have forgotten something so important! Like forgetting your anniversary! OK, not that bad, but close. Today my NFL withdrawal was going to come to an end as I partook in a double-dose, nay, a triple-dose (how could I forget about Sunday night football?) of bone-crushing pigskin action.

But it wasn't meant to be. I stuck to my guns and refrained from spending any time in front of the boob tube. Instead I spent the afternoon playing with the girls and working on some of their softball skills, which I have to admit was probably time better spent. I later logged on to the computer to see how the Bears fared: a 14-3 loss to the Chargers. Three measly points? My time was DEFINITELY better spent. And I was in a better mood too. Hell, if this is how the Bears are going to perform, I'll GLADLY fast from television for the rest of the season!

Tourney Time: The Bad & The Ugly

Well it's too bad that even a tournament for 8 year-olds has to have ugly moments. It's sad when the kids are more mature than the adults, and this weekend reminded me once again of how easily children's sporting events can turn to fisticuffs amongst the parents. On to the review of the Bad and the Ugly of All-Star Tournament weekend.


The Bad

I've alluded to it in previous posts, but the weather sucked. It was too freakin' hot, and I'm amazed that none of the players succumbed to heat exhaustion. Kudos to the coaches who kept the girls hydrated and sprayed down. Temperatures averaged around 105 and topped out at 108.

And it was ridiculous what the parents had to drag around to keep from dying. You couldn't sit on the metal bleachers unless you wanted your ass served sunny-side up. So the area surrounding the ball fields turned into tent city with families hauling and erecting 10' and 12' portable canopies to provide shelter from the sun. In between games there was a steady flow of tournament refugees toting canopies, chairs, and coolers between the fields and the parking lot. It was quite the sight to see. By the time we actually got our canopy and chairs set up, we were drenched with sweat and spent the rest of the game sucking down as much water as possible to replace the liquid draining from our sweat glands.

So I'm thinking that next year All-Star weekend should take place around April.


The Ugly

I think if there's anything worse than a sore loser, it's a sore winner. I mean, seriously, you're winning. What in the world do you have to complain about? We played the tournament #1 seed twice and got stomped 9-0 and 6-0, even though we gave them a tough fight through half of the second game. In both of those games, their coaches and/or parents complained about some activity surrounding our team. In the first game, the teenage brother of one of the girls on Kailey's team brought a small cow bell. He attached it to his chair and rang it when one of our girls got a hit or made a good play. He wasn't being overly raucous or obnoxious with it, but at the end of the second inning, when we were losing 6-0, the umpire came up to the backstop and said, "Ummm, I'm sorry, didn't realize this but cow bells aren't allowed." They were routing us and complaining about a cow bell. Pretty pathetic.

It gets worse. We were playing for our tournament lives in our Sunday afternoon rematch, and our girls were stoked. We held the #1 seed scoreless for the first two innings and the heat was on. Our girls came up to bat in the top of the third inning and everyone in the dugout was doing cheers and getting into the game. We had them up against the ropes and we knew it.

At some point in the inning one of the opposing team's coaches called time and came out to speak with the ump (the same ump who banned our cow bell). They spoke in hushed tones for a minute, then the ump walked over to our coach at third base and spoke to him for a minute. A smirk crept across our coach's face as he and the ump walked across the field to our dugout on the first base side. There they addressed our team for a few moments before the ump took his position behind the plate and our coach returned to third base. The whole time the crowd buzzed wondering what the hell was going on.

Our questions were answered moments later. And it didn't help the situation that most of the parents from both teams were lumped together behind home plate under the canopies of the tent city erected there. One of the moms from the other team delivered the news to everyone within earshot in a manner reminiscent of a prissy schoolgirl ratting out a spitball-wielding classmate. "It's in the RULES. They are not supposed to cheer while the pitcher is in the act of pitching. It's in the RULES."

A collective groan arose from the cluster of Southeast parents. Are you even f-ing kidding me? Here we are, the first team in the tournament to give them a real game, and they're nitpicking on when and how the girls can cheer? If our girls were screaming at the point of the pitcher's release and trying to razz her, then I think their complaint would be legitimate. But they weren't. They were getting into the spirit of the game, and to us, the complaint was totally petty.

The atmosphere behind home plate was tense after that, to say the least, and a few words were exchanged between parents. Fortunately, after a brief period of grumbling, everyone exercised restraint and tried their best to enjoy the game. Their girls scored three runs in the bottom of the third, effectively ending the game. We came so close to rubbing it in their fat faces...is that bad?

In a way, yes, it is. These are 8 year-old girls we're talking about here (although they had twelve of the biggest 8 year-olds I'VE ever seen). They probably still play Barbie's, and dress up, and do all the things that 8 year-old girls do. It's what the adults do that taint the kids and teach them that it's OK to do whatever it takes to win or that winning is the only thing. So, in essence, I guess I really wanted to rub it in the coaches' "fat faces".

Oh, I forgot another vital piece of information concerning those coaches. Diane and her mom were sitting by the opposing team's bench during their first drubbing when they overheard their head coach talking about our team. "This is what we used to look like before I took over this program," he bragged. What an ass. Sure, he's built a winning program, but at what cost? A program that produces a bunch of cry babies when they're winning? I'd hate to see how ugly it gets when they lose. And what does it teach these little girls?

OK, at this point I realize that I'm probably the one who sounds like a sore loser. It's not that at all. It didn't bother me in the least that we lost to the #2 seed on Saturday night. It was a close game, and, more importantly, their team was good and they handled themselves with class. They didn't bitch and moan that girls were being girls. Their coaches weren't these raging type-A personalities with testosterone gushing out of every pore of their bodies. They were competitive and they played hard, but they kept it all in perspective.

So while it was disappointing as the underdog to come up short against the #1 seed, I was still proud of our girls. They worked hard after losing a couple of games when they could have just given up. Now Kailey's coaches are talking about starting a Fall Ball team, so we'll see what Kailey wants to do. She's definitely a talented softball player and we want to encourage her and support her in any REASONABLE way we can. If she wants to play, we'll sign her up. I just want to make sure that I don't become one of those ultra-competitive softball fanatics, which I could probably slip into rather easily.

But for now, we'll just take a little breather from softball, until next week that is. Monday morning at 6:00 am, Kailey AND Kyra will be joining me in the backyard for drills and BP, 'cause next year we're gonna win it all!

Tourney Time: The Good Part 2

If I know anything about blog readers, it's that they'd much prefer reading about the bad and the ugly over the good. So I'll try to make the good brief, then move on to the juicy stuff.

Southeast had its first single-elimination tournament game Sunday morning against Tanque Verde. We cruised to a 7-2 victory and started to look like the team I envisioned prior to the tournament. Southeast was hitting its stride at just the right time because our next game was a rematch against The Amazon Women of Sahuaro, pictured above. As you can see from the picture, #8 is our tallest player. The three Sahuaro players at the left of the picture are all as tall, if not bigger. The whole team was like that. It was David vs. Goliath.

The atmosphere was electric, the tension, palpable. Parents of the Southeast players, quiet for most of the tournament, came to life. It felt like we were playing for a national championship. Pitching dominated the game. We hung with them for the first two innings, holding them scoreless. But the Sahuaro pitchers were too good and too plentiful, rotating in a new pitcher each inning, and our two pitchers eventually wore down in the heat. Sahuaro had two three-run innings and sent us home 6-0. Our tourney run was over, but we gave them a hell of a fight. After the game, the Sahuaro coaches told our coaches that we were the only team to give them a hard time up to that point in the tournament.

Kailey went 1 for 1 at the plate against Sahuaro, and was one of the few Southeast players to get on base. She fouled off one pitch from the Sahuaro pitcher, who was throwing smoke for a 12, er, 8 year-old. Kailey eventually drew four balls from the opposing pitcher and then hit a single off of her coach. It wasn't her best hit, but it was probably one of her best at bats. Since she batted at the bottom of the order, she never had more than one at bat per game. She batted .500 for the tournament going 2 for 4, with one strike out and one hit pitch. Not too shabby.

And I can't say it enough: Kailey toughed it out. Actually, all those girls toughed it out. It was hotter than hell out there and they were tired from playing so many games, yet they gave it their all. Not bad for a bunch of 8 year-olds. Hopefully they collected more than just their participation medals (that's what's going on in the picture. Kailey is the one walking back in line). I know that whenever I look at Kailey's medal, I'll be reminded of the hard work and the fight that she and her whole team put up in her first All-Star tournament. And I'll remind her of how proud I was.

Sorry kids, it's late and I'm tired. The tournament bad and ugly will have to wait another day.

Tourney Time

It's Monday morning, and we're all recovering from a hectic weekend of softball, Kailey's first All-Star tournament. Overall, it was a good experience, even though the Southeast Boring White Jersey All-Stars came nowhere close to winning the tournament. I was, most of all, proud of Kailey, because this tournament was one of those times where you hope you can teach your children some important life lessons. While I can't proclaim with any measure of certainty that she learned that lesson, I'm confident that a solid foundation was put in place, and Diane and I, as parents, need to continue to build.

As I tucked Kailey in bed last night, we talked about the tournament and about those lessons and what she learned. At one point she asked me, "Daddy, why are you whispering?"

I played it macho. I couldn't tell her the real reason I was whispering; that I thought I might break down if I talked in my normal voice. That's how proud I was. I just told her it was late and we were talking in our goodnight voices. She was OK with that.

Enough of the mushiness and on to the details of All-Star Weekend: the Good, the Bad, & the Ugly.


The Good

The Southeast All-Stars played their hearts out. They had a rough start to the tournament and played five games in 30 hours, something probably none of them have ever done before. They very easily could have gotten down on themselves and given up, but they gave their very best to the bitter end.

Friday and Saturday's games were used to determine the tournament seeds. Actual tournament play took place on Sunday. Southeast played three games on Saturday to determine their tournament ranking. They went 1 and 2 and ended up being ranked 5th out of 6 teams. Ouch. I honestly wasn't expecting that. In their first game, they played the Amazon Women of Sahuaro, the softball juggernauts of Tucson. They are the Tucson softball equivalent of the New York Yankees...the very best that money can buy. Did I write that out loud? Everybody ("hates" is a really strong word) wants to beat them really, REALLY bad. Problem is, they're too big and too good. Their smallest player was as big as our biggest player. And they cleaned our clocks 9-0 on Saturday morning. Welcome to the tournament, ladies and germs.

The bats came to life and we bounced back in our next game against Las Ninas, winning 7-5. However, Kailey suffered a bit of a mental crisis. The girls were taking batting practice before the game, and Kailey cracked herself in the knee with her bat while warming up. She had a bruise, but I think the combination of injury, heat and fatigue took its toll on her little body. She didn't want to play and told Diane she wanted to go home. Since that wasn't an option, she instead sat out of the game until it was her turn to bat. That's when the pitcher hit her on the other leg. Talk about adding injury to injury. Kailey limped to first base and ran to second on the next batter's base hit where she collapsed on the base and burst into tears. Her coach scooped her up and carried her back to the shade of the dugout. We applied ice to her leg, and she sat out the rest of the game.

I thought Kailey's leg was well enough play. Diane thought so too. Her coaches graciously stayed out of it and supported and encouraged her as best they could. But Kailey had made up her mind that she was hurt and couldn't play at the risk of further injury. Thankfully, there was a nice long break between games two and three, so we went home, cleaned her up and laid her down for a much-needed nap. In fact, we all laid down for much-needed naps. We also gave her a nice long pep talk about teamwork and not giving up and working through adversity and all that not-so-crappy crap.

The bottom line was that her team needed her and she wasn't pulling her weight. Sure it was hot as hell out there, but everyone was playing in the same heat. And before the game, one of Kailey's teammates got hit in the nose during warm-ups unleashing a bloody geyser across right field. She played the whole game because Kailey was riding the bench with a slightly bruised knee. Kailey's response: "Well it stopped bleeding." I guess compassion isn't one of her strong suits.

After making sure Kailey was well rested, fed and hydrated, Diane and I basically told her she would play the next game. I guess compassion isn't one of our strong suits either. We weren't being cruel, overbearing sports parents (I don't think). But we know our children. We know when they're giving their all and when they're holding back. Kailey had a bruise on her knee half the size of a dime, yet she carried on as though she was awaiting the amputation a gangrenous leg. We knew this was a situation she was going to have to push through, and we pushed her to do it.

Their third game was against a fundamentally sound Oro Valley team. I could tell by the way they were warming up that this would be a tough game. Kailey gave us a couple of last-ditch-effort whines before the game, but we encouraged her to stick with it. And she did for the rest of the tournament. Southeast gave them a great fight but fell short 4-2, thus cementing our 5th seed. If we were going to win the championship, we'd have to win three games on Sunday and beat the #1 seed Amazon Women of Sahuaro in game 2. Incidentally, Oro Valley was the #2 seed.

Kailey played the game, and afterward we heaped on the praise. She didn't give her greatest performance, but she pushed through the pain, the discomfort, and the fear, and for that, I'm extremely proud. And she contributed to her team when the tournament officially started Sunday morning.

...to be continued.

Last Primer Before All-Star Weekend

Kailey's big All-Star tournament is next weekend, and her team has been practicing HARD the past few weeks to get ready. They're taking this thing very seriously. I love it. What I don't love is their lack of a team name. They simply call themselves "Southeast" or "Eastside", which has nowhere near the ring of the Blue (Balls) Bandits. Even their All-Star jerseys are boring. They're white. We may as well call ourselves the Southeast Eastside Boring White Jersey All-Stars. I understand the practicality of the choice of white for their jerseys. They're playing in a weekend tournament in 100+ degree heat, and white jerseys will keep them as cool as can be under those circumstances. But it's still boring.

Fortunately, the Southeast All-Stars' play is anything BUT boring. This morning they had a scrimmage game against another local All-Star team in as a kind of last minute primer before the tournament. They won 6-2, and I saw several positives going into All-Star weekend.

As is true for any baseball/softball team, the key to having a great team is pitching. If you've got great pitching, you're on your way. In Kailey's league, the girls pitch. When they pitch four balls, the opposing team's coach comes in and pitches. The common batting strategy is to wait for the opposing team's pitcher, who usually sucks, to throw her four balls, and then swing away when the coach comes in to serve big fat meatballs. This strategy takes great fortitude as the batter has absolutely no idea where those four pitches are going to end up. At least one of them always goes over the backstop, and you can all but guarantee that another one is coming for her head. But if your team has a pitcher that can actually throw STRIKES, the batter gets frazzled. At best, or worst depending on your team, she'll watch two strikes go by before striking out swinging at a pitch two miles over her head. Otherwise she'll have one or two strikes on her before the coach comes in to pitch, making the odds in favor of a strikeout. Keep the coach off the mound and your chance of winning greatly increase. The Southeast Eastside Boring White Jersey All-Stars have several girls who can throw strikes consistently.

After pitching comes offense, and Eastside can hit from the top to the bottom of the order. The question is will they swing at the strikes thrown by the other teams' pitchers? I don't know. The opposing teams' pitching this morning was pretty atrocious. I think they can.

Defense at this age group is pretty much a non-factor. Every team's defense sucks, with the exception of a couple good plays per game. These girls are still working to refine the motor skills required to field, throw, and catch. If they knock a ball down, you encourage them with a "good job!" If they field the ball cleanly and make a good throw, the encouragement grows in excitement. But if the 1st baseman catches the ball or if they catch a pop up, everyone pees themselves with excitement. You'd think the Cubs won the Series. Eastside managed to make a few key, pee-inducing defensive plays, including a couple of caught fly balls. If they keep it up, they'll go far into the tournament.

One last note concerning the sad state of affairs surrounding modern sport. This morning before the game, as the parents were lounging around sucking down water and trying not to die of heat stroke, one of the coach's wives surprised us with a last minute tournament requirement: birth certificates. We already submitted a copy of Kailey's birth certificate with her original softball registration. But apparently the pressure to excel is so great, even at this young age, that coaches are tempted to cheat and recruit older girls to their rosters. So we have to submit another copy of her birth certificate to tournament organizers so they can verify her age. She'll pass that test, and then it will be tournament time. They face a stiff opponent in their first game Saturday morning: the Amazon Women of Sahuaro. Can't wait.

GO SOUTHEAST EASTSIDE BORING WHITE JERSEY ALL-STARS!!

Hey Now, You're an All Star

Kailey's Blue (Balls) Bandit softball season came to an end last night with a loss against their league arch-rivals, Lightning. The game was a meaningless one as Lightning already eliminated the Bandits from the playoffs. Only one team from each league can enter the city-wide playoffs, and Lightening earned that spot outright by beating the Bandits in their regular season meetings. Kailey had a good game offensively, going 2-3 at the plate with no strike outs.

The good news of the night was that Kailey's softball season was extended when we learned that she was selected for her league's All Star Team. Way to go, Kailey! So now, she'll be practicing with her All Star Team in preparation for a tournament at the end of June. And it sounds like the tournament is a pretty big deal, with opening ceremonies, special tournament programs, All Star uniforms, and All Star team support shirts, all for a price, of course. Still, it sounds like it should be an exciting time, and Kailey is pumped. I'm going to take a couple of days off from work so I can attend the whole tournament. I must be nuts. Taking time off from work to attend a softball tournament in the southern Arizona summer heat? I can't wait.

Tee Ball is His-to-ry!

This morning I attended my last tee ball game, EVER! Whoo hoo! If I never see another tee ball game, it will be too soon. No more kids picking their noses, digging in the dirt, or getting hit in the head with the softball because they weren't paying attention. Actually, I kind of liked seeing the kids get hit by the ball...it was the only entertaining part of the game. Perhaps I'm just a little grumpy due to a severe lack of sleep. For some reason, the league likes to schedule the tee ball games at 8:00 am on Saturday mornings when there's not another living soul on the park's four softball fields until at least 10:00. The only benefit to playing early is to beat the penetrating rays of the desert sun, but if I had my choice, I'd rather sleep the extra two hours.

By around 8:30, I was snoozing through this game. Diane and I took our seats at the top of the bleachers for no other reason than there were bars that we could rest our backs up against. I dozed off until it was Kyra's turn to bat. Then I made my way up to the fence to take pictures and video of her at the plate. In fact, it seems like all of the dads had their cameras this morning, and we took turns marching up to the fence to capture amazing moments of our offspring flailing their bats at that elusive yellow ball.

Kyra actually did pretty well at the plate, hitting off the pitcher twice. She always seems to have to use the tee on her last at bat, a victim of boredom or fatigue due the slow pace of the game. I think she was also a little bummed. She didn't get to do any of the things she liked during the game: she didn't hit first or last (the last batter gets to run all the bases after they hit), and she didn't get to play pitcher or first base, the two field positions that get 99.9% of the action. So she was pouting.

When I look back at the season, I think we should have moved Kyra up to the next level, into Kailey's league. She would have been stimulated and challenged more, and I believe she would have excelled. And, more importantly, it would have made our lives much less hectic! Oh well...coulda, woulda, shoulda. Just like my beloved Cubbies, there's always next year. Unless we enroll them in fall ball.

Cubs, Why Must You Torment Me?

I've been biting my tongue all season long, but I can't take it anymore. My Cubbies spent a butt-load of money in the off season and they still suck. Should I be surprised? Not really. Tonight, they blew a 4-0 lead against the Mets, eventually losing 5-4 by WALKING IN THE WINNING RUN! I've been an unwavering, die-hard Cub fan for nearly 35 years, and I'm tired of always waiting until next year. I know it's still early in the season to throw in the towel, and I hope to crap that I end up eating my words, but I'm tired of being cursed by loving a team that is itself cursed.

I blame my Dad. He made me a Cub fan through one small, simple gesture. And I vividly remember the exact moment in my young, impressionable life when I freely gave myself to the curse of being a Cub fan.

I was four years old and in the hospital for a series of skin graft surgeries to repair third degree burns on my left arm. Talk about a parent's nightmare. While at a babysitter's house, I thought it might be a good idea to stick that arm into her wringer washer machine, but soon learned otherwise. A wringer washer machine is an old-fashioned washer equipped with two rollers that "wring" the water out of clothes. It's the equivalent of the modern day spin cycle only nuclear turbofied. So while the machine was wringing the crap out of my arm, I stuck my right thumb in the gears trying to get some leverage to pull my arm out. Off came the tip of my thumb. Did I mention I was four? In runs my babysitter to find me stuck in and bleeding all over her washing machine. She popped the top off the rollers, freed me from her washing machine of death, and held me until my Mom arrived to take me to the emergency room.

They whisked me into one of the exam rooms and immediately began cutting off the long sleeve of my Garanimals shirt. I don't know if they still do this or not, but back in the early 70's, Garanimals were known for making long-sleeve shirts with non-elastic cuffs. That way boys couldn't pull their sleeves up to their armpits and stretch all the elastic out of the cuffs. Moms thought this was awesome. Boys frickin' hated it. Between my Garanimal shirts and Toughskin jeans, I was one miserable hombre. Anyway, because I couldn't roll up my sleeve, we had no idea of the extent of damage awaiting us under the shirt. Besides, everyone's attention was focused on my hemorrhaging thumb. How could anyone but a doctor have guessed there were third degree burns under my sleeve? They cut away my sleeve and the last thing I remember before passing out was, "Hey, why does my whole freakin' arm look like cheese pizza?"

I awoke the next day (or at least I assume it was the next day) to BOTH of my arms heavily bandaged and hanging in slings. I quickly became known around the children's ward as "Popeye" because of my bulging arms. Children can be so cruel. I had several skin graft surgeries over the next several months to repair the damage to my arm. Or maybe it was just weeks...I have yet to meet a four year-old with a good sense of time. Whatever the time frame, suffice it to say that I spent more time in a hospital than any four year-old should.

What does any of this have to do with the Cubs? During one of my stays in the hospital, my Dad, God bless him, brought me a gift, a talisman guaranteeing my lifelong devotion: it was a plastic Cubs batting helmet. It was my first piece of Cub memorabilia and I took it hook, line and sinker. From that moment on, the Cubs were MY team. All because of a stupid royal blue piece of plastic with a red "C" on the front.

He was a well-intentioned soul, my Dad. How on earth could he know he was passing down the curse? Somehow, now that I think about it, he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing. He himself had endured the torment throughout his lifetime, and now he wanted company in his misery. In time he recruited my brother as well, who is now paying the ultimate price. You see, my brother turned coat and became a bandwagon Cardinals fan after they won the Series in the early eighties. Now he's back and he's a Cub FANATIC, the worst kind of torture there is. His daily mood is determined solely by the Cubs final box score. Poor bastard. At least I see the final score, mutter "Stupid Cubs" and then carry on with my day. But it's getting old...really old. I don't want to wait until next year anymore.

Gettin' Yer Bell Rung

Tuesday night, Diane and I took Kailey to her gymnastics class which we had to reschedule because of a conflict with softball. Her rescheduled class was later than normal, and the gym bustled with several classes of girls of varying age going through a variety of exercises from floor, to vault, to balance beam...you get the picture. Only one thing will stop all activity in the gym dead in its tracks and it's situated on one wall next to the vault: a bell. It is a common practice that when a budding gymnast accomplishes a new feat, she, or the occasional he, bounds over to the bell and rings it. The gym goes silent as all attention is directed toward the ringer of the bell, followed by the collective question inquired by all who are present, "WHADJA DO?" The bell-ringer then gives a description of the mastery of their new skill:

"I did a somersault!"

"I climbed the 20-foot rope without plummeting to my death!!"

"I did a roundabout half-pike, triple gainer with a lemon twist!!"

The gym then bursts into cheers and applause, and the bell-ringer runs back to join her class, beaming with pride.

Kailey recently moved up to the next level and is doing quite well. I'm often impressed by her gracefulness as well as her natural ability to pick up new maneuvers quickly. About halfway through the session, her class moved to the low balance beams, situated about a foot off of the floor. They began by doing their normal beam exercises, but then her instructor introduced a new move to the balance beam: the handstand toe-touch. The girls are used to doing this move on the floor. They start by going into a handstand, touch their toes at the top of the handstand, then bring their legs back down to the floor where they resume their standing position. Now they were supposed to do this on the beam. The handstand position was no problem for most of the girls, but they were falling all over the place as they tried to land squarely back on the beam.

When she started, Kailey was stumbling and tumbling like the rest of the girls, but then began sticking her landings. Granted, she was only going a quarter of the way up on her handstand, but as her confidence grew, she went higher and higher in her handstand while sticking more of her landings. Her instructor worked with her for a minute, saw her stick a landing, and, yup, you guessed it, sent her over to the bell. Diane and I smiled as we watched Kailey trot with confidence across the gym to where the bell sat on the wall. She gave the string a tug and the bell sang out, prompting everyone in the gym, as if on cue, to respond with the required inquiry:

"WHADJA DO?"

Kailey took a deep breath, then stopped. Her proud smile faded from her lips and the blood drained from her face as she realized she had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA OF HOW TO EXPLAIN WHAT SHE HAD JUST DONE. Her little body slumped against the wall as she felt the stare of every eye in the gym boring into her, waiting to hear the details of her fantastic feat. Her eyes widened to what seemed the size of her head, revealing the churning wheels of her mind that desperately searched for an explanation. After what seemed like an eternity, Kailey muttered something unintelligible, at least to Diane and me as we tried to stifle our laughter, then scurried back to her class to the gracious cheers of the parents and other gymnasts.

She completed the rest of her class without incident, but I think she left the gym having learned an important lesson. If you're gonna ring the bell, you'd better have a damn-good explanation.

The Night the Bats Were Silent (Game Night)

It was a cold, blustery evening for softball, and it seemed like the Blue (Balls) Bandits were in no mood to play, which became evident in their 4-0 loss to the Amazon Women of Sahuaro. Seriously, half the girls on the other team looked like they should be playing on the 13U team. The final score is deceptive because the Amazon Women had an extra at bat where they scored three runs before the game was called due to the time limit. I hate the time limit because it's a disadvantage to the home team. The visitors are almost always guaranteed an extra at-bat, and the Bandits have lost at least two games because of this.

Have you noticed a little change of tone here? It's amazing how much my attitude toward the game has changed over the course of the season. At the start of the season, everyone was cheering for all the girls, but as the season progressed it was obvious how competitive these teams were. Now, we want to see the Bandits crush the opposition. Last night, Diane and I were secretly cursing the Amazon Women under our breaths (and to each other), willing them with our mind-powers to swing at crappy pitches. Yes, we know, we are horrible people.

We could have won this game, or at least have been a little more competitive, if the girls would have duplicated their normal hitting performance. But none of our sluggers were hitting. It seemed like everyone kept striking out. Kailey fell victime to the "K" in her first at bat, but crushed the ball over the shortstop's head into left field on her second and last at bat. She and another runner were left stranded on base as other Bandit batters failed to hit the ball. Defensively, she did well, cleanly handling a ground ball while playing left field and nearly throwing out the runner at first base.

Only three more games before tournament time. Hopefully by then our bats will come back to life.

100 and Counting...Softball & Insanity

Welcome to my 100th post! I'd like to thank the insanity that pervades my life, which has supplied 100 posts-worth of material that is hopefully at least mildly entertaining. Here's looking to 100 more.

The past two weeks have been chock-full of insanity with dog-sitting, SEVEN softball games, and me working nearly thirty hours of overtime. Last week the girls had five games in five days, three of which were makeup games from rain-outs. Kailey played three games, all of which were Blue (Balls) Bandits victories where she got a lot of hits and scored a lot of runs. Kyra and her Purple (Nurple) Pixies played twice. Coverage of Kyra's Pixies has been noticeably absent from my blog for a number of reasons. First, tee-ball is tedious and boring. Most of the girls can't hit, can't field, and can't pay attention. Some of this is mildly amusing, and the girls will get an occasional good hit or make a good play, but we enjoyed it much more when both of the girls were playing in the same tee-ball league. Now that Kailey has moved on to the next level, tee-ball has revealed it's true, bland self.

In Kyra's league, each batter gets four pitches from the coach. If they don't hit the ball in those four pitches, then they bring out the tee, a symbol of shame and defeat. Which brings me to the second reason: until recently, Kyra was underperforming at the plate. I know, I know...this makes me sound like the controlling, ultra-competitive dad who rides his kids mercilessly, but let me assure you that I'm not. I regularly pitch to the girls in the backyard where they both proceed to pound the crap out of the ball. Kailey has been able to translate this to the ballfield while Kyra hadn't. I don't know if it was just game day nerves, but she would just whiff at those four pitches, and then hang her head as the coach moved the tee into position. THEN she'd pound the crap out of it. Her coach could sense her mounting frustration, and in one of her at bats last week, he walked to the plate and took a moment to give her a little pep talk. He held the yellow ball right in front of her nose and said, "Kyra, I KNOW you can hit this ball." And she did...nearly took his head clean off. And about time, too.

Kyra had a game this morning that her coach wasn't able to make. I told him and the assistant coach that I could give a hand if they needed me, and shortly before the game started, she asked me if I would coach third base. Why exactly a third base coach is needed in a tee-ball game is beyond me, but I obliged her nonetheless. I headed out to third base where the extent of my coaching ability was whittled down to a one-word utterance, screamed repeatedly until I was nearly hoarse: "RUN!" Each of the girls I encountered at third base were more interested in just about anything OTHER than running.

"My name is Taylor, what's your name?"

"I have a family...I have a Mommy, a Daddy..."

"There's a big dog!"

"...a brother, a Gramma, a Grampa..."

"Hey look! There's a little dog! He's so cute!'

"...an auntie, and my cousin...they're all over there! Hiiiii!"

"Huggie!"

That was Kyra. She'd run to third base, then give me a hug. She was excited to have me helping out with her team, and I didn't have the heart to tell her there are no huggies in baseball, er, softball. Besides, today she deserved her huggies. She was one of only two girls to get hits off of the pitcher, crushing the ball on three of her four at-bats. She only had to hit off of the tee once. Atta girl. Better late than never.

Game Night...A Hush Descends on the Crowd

Kailey had a whale of a game at the plate tonight, crushing the ball twice and going 2 for 2 with two doubles, 3 RBI (that's "runs batted in" for those living in a cave), and a run scored. Her second double nearly took the coach's head off. She easily could have had a triple on the play, except her league has a three-run per inning rule. Her double drove in two runs and ended the inning. She looked a little rusty on D tonight, bobbling a grounder at third and holding onto the ball too long while playing right field and allowing a run to score. Oh well, she more than made up for it at the plate, accounting for four runs in the Blue (Balls) Bandits 6-4 win.

Obnoxious Mouth Guy? I think he read my blog because he was amazingly calm, courteous and likable tonight, and not an ounce of St. Louis Cardinal paraphernalia adorned his body. Either that or his wife gave him an ultimatum: stop acting like an ass at softball games or never see her naked again. I like to think he read my blog, but whatever keeps the peace.

Game Day II...The Mouth Heard 'Round the World

You know how at every kids sporting event there seems to be some obnoxious, loud-mouthed a-hole that spends the whole game razzing the officials and blurting out rude comments to no one's delight but his own? Yeah, well that guy has a daughter on Kailey's softball team. And remember when I wrote about how nice and refreshing it was to have all of the parents cheering for all of the kids? I spoke too soon. That utopian ideal of unbiased parental support during children's sporting events has been shot straight to hell.

Kailey's game was Monday night. It was a cold, cloudy, windy, miserable night for softball, so nobody was in a particularly good mood to begin with. Then Mouth began his taunting. First, it was directed at the umpire, who had made a couple of bad calls, calling balls strikes. But understand, being an umpire in an 8 and Under softball league has to be the most BORING job in the world. The girls pitch until they've thrown four balls, then the coach takes over. As you can imagine, probably fewer than 10% of the balls pitched by the girls are strikes. If you're an ump, you're probably going to make a couple of questionable calls out of sheer boredom. I'm not saying that it's right...I'm just saying.

So loud-mouth dad, who, incidentally, is always decked out in St. Louis Cardinal's attire which further draws my ire as a Cub fan, starts in on the ump. At first he drew a few snickers from the parents, but as he continued, an awkward silence descended on the crowd. Then, it got worse the next inning as his daughter took the mound. He turned his taunting from the umpire to THE EIGHT YEAR-OLD GIRLS ON THE OTHER TEAM!! When one of the girls would strike out, he'd yell, "RING 'ER UP!" I was mortified and getting really pissed off. Finally, his wife, bless her heart, turned around and laid into him for being a complete ass. He had a couple of things to say back to her, but eventually relented. I swear I heard a mental cheer erupt from the parents.

I just don't understand people like this. Did he think he was funny? Did he have a few too many at the local pub before heading to the game? Or is he just the world's biggest jerk? I don't know. But what I do know is that his behavior is horribly inappropriate at this age level, hell, at ANY age level. It teaches young kids that it's OK and even expected to disrespect game officials and to ridicule your opponent. So much for sportsmanship.

I can understand the competitive spirit. I played organized sports through high school, college and beyond. I've experienced the thrill of getting the game-winning hit, of hitting the jumper in the face of a trash-talking opponent, and of gunning down the runner at the plate. I get it. There's no feeling in the world like it. But I believe that healthy competition should build people up rather than tear down. When my opponent robs me of a base hit with an amazing diving catch, or drains a three-pointer with my hand in his face, he deserves praise for a great performance regardless of the color of his jersey. It just seems that tearing down your opponent has become an ugly part of competition in our present day society, and I hate it.

Jumping down off my soapbox and into more important news, Kailey had a great game in a 3-2 Blue Balls Bandit loss. She went 1 for 1 at the plate with a run scored. She also had two plays on the field, one from third base and one from shortstop, where she cleanly fielded the ball and made strong throws to first. The runners were safe on both occasions, but that's typical at this level: anything hit left of second base is going to be a hit. Most importantly, she didn't freeze to death during the game.

The Blue Balls play next on Saturday and we'll see if obnoxious dad can keep his trap shut. My money is on no.

Game Day

Saturday is game day for Kailey and Kyra, and we were up early for Kailey's 8:00 a.m. softball game followed by Kyra's at 10:00. Of course it would be WAY too convenient for both games to be in the same location, but I'm not complaining (that much) because I was at least able to take in most of both games.

Kailey had a heckuva game in the Blue (balls) Bandits' 2-1 loss to the Red Monkeys...yes, they lost to a bunch of monkeys. The Bandits were up 1-0 in the third inning when the Monkeys caught our second baseman napping with runners on second and third. Both runners scored and the Bandits were not able to make up the defecit. Kailey went 1 for 2 at the plate and scored the lone Blue Bandit run. In her second at bat, she lined a shot right back to the pitcher, who, by sheer luck, stuck out her glove and caught it. BOO. She had no plays on the field, but still paid attention for most of the game, even though there was plenty of dirt to play with. Way to go, Kailey!

I had to leave Kailey's game early to get Kyra to her game, with, of course, a Starbucks run in between. Kyra plays for the Purple (nurples) Pixies. As you can see, our league has a fondness for colors and alliteration when it comes to selecting team names. Kyra had a great game as well, but I have no idea who won the game. She plays on a T-ball team where there are no winners or losers, where everyone hits in an inning, and where, by the end of the game, everyone knows your name because most everyone has had a great laugh watching these little girls learn the ins and outs of softball. It's just plain fun to scream "RUN" at the top of your lungs whenever the kid hits a trickler and then stands there admiring her work. The batter takes off towards first, holding her shorts so they don't end up around her ankles while EVERY SINGLE player on the field flocks to the ball like a pack of wild hyenas on a fresh kill. By the time the ball is thrown the ball to first, the batter has been standing on the base for about ten minutes. The parents then cheer as though the kid just hit a home run or performed a diving, backhanded grab followed by a searing throw to first that barely nabs the runner. But the really cool thing is that the parents cheer for all the kids, regardless of team. We just want to see them all succeed.

Kyra had some good hits off the tee, but even more impressive was her field play. She played the pitcher position in the first inning, and, as you can imagine, most of the hits come that way. She cleanly fielded everything that was hit to, and she followed those up with good throws to first base. She, like Kailey, did a great job of paying attention to the game, with no noticeable bug-chasing, dirt-diving, or nose-picking. Hey, your standards have to start somewhere. Great job, Kyra! I'm proud of my girls and can't wait until the next game day!

Bummed

Kailey's first softball game of the season was this afternoon and I missed it because I had to work. It's times like these that I hate my weird work schedule and the inflexible hours. As the girls get older, it will become increasingly difficult to attend all of their extracurricular activities. And this year has become a little crazier as the girls are now in different age divisions for softball. And so it begins: double the practices and double the games. And it will be this way until they're ready to fly the coop. I just don't want to become the "absent dad"; the dad who missed special events because of work. And I don't want the girls to think that my work is more important than them. It's not. My work is a paycheck, nothing more, nothing less.

Kailey called me after the game and told me all about it. Actually, I had to drag it out of her as I grilled her with a barrage of questions. "What position did you play? Did you catch any pop-ups? Were any grounders hit to you? Did you throw them out? Did you get any hits? Did you win? Did you have fun?" She played right-center field and second base over the course of the game, which warmed my heart because I played second through high school. She had no pop-ups and one grounder, and struck out in one at-bat...we'll work on that...and she didn't know if they won. I love that. Wins and losses will matter one day, but for now, I just want her to learn the game and have fun. She was bummed about the strike-out because, she said, "the girl pitched too fast." Kailey's a good hitter, and she'll make those pitchers pay as soon as she learns to lay off the high heat.

Before we hung up I told her that I loved her and that I was proud of her, and she seemed to be OK with that. Her next game is Monday night and I'll be there, cheering her on and shaking my head as she digs in the dirt and chases butterflies around the outfield. I can't wait.

The Blue WHAT?

Kailey left softball practice last week with an assignment: to brainstorm potential team names that would correspond with their team color, royal blue. They would then gather at the next practice, share their ideas, and take a vote. Kailey's brainstorming took on more of an ethereal bent: Blue Skies, Blue Moon, etc.

The girls huddled at the end of their practice Wednesday night to settle the issue of the team name, and their coach encouraged them to share their ideas.

"Blue Birds!"

"Blue Tigers!"

"Blue Bandits!"

"I know," cried the coach's seven year-old son, a clever young lad, "THE BLUE BALLS!"

After the adults picked themselves up off the ground, the girls took their vote and settled on the Blue Bandits. But we all know what the real, unspoken name of the Blue Bandits is. I can tell you without a doubt what will be going through every parent's head each and every time they hear a "Blue Bandits" cheer:

Gooooooooo BLUE BALLS!!