THREE STRIKES AND YOU GET THREE MORE.

Being a father of two boys, I’ve had more than my share of Little League Baseball, Football, Basketball and Soccer games.

It actually started 29 years ago this spring, on a clear and sunny Saturday, as I packed off my new 2nd baseman to participate in his first organized baseball game.

My kid knew where first base was thanks to his old man.
With new glove, hat and shirt we went to the coach to report for the beginning of what surely would be the road to the major leagues, I was all excited as I sat on the ground to watch 4,000 little boys go out on the field as the first kid stood at the “T” for “T-ball” and his first swing.

The first order of business was to get the little fellow to face the field, so he could hit at someone on defense. The second order of business was to put him next to the “T”. The little fellow swings at the stationary ball and hits it. All 3, 999 fielders run to get the ball, there is a big pileup and the ball squirts loose. The batter standing at the “T” looks bewildered as all the parents start to shout orders to run to first. But where is first base? Somewhere under the pileup of future Jose Reyes lies first base.

Football had its greatest moments in the midget leagues, as one day I went to a game. The team was dressed in their green jerseys, helmets and white pants for the life and struggle to the death as only six year olds can play. As the battle swayed back and forth, and the lead see-sawing from one team to the other, half time came along, and none too soon as all the starting eleven stood across the field, facing the woods along the sidelines, peeing with their backs to the crowd, numbers showing clearing who was the biggest pisser.