View From the Stands

I could watch him all day. And I do.

Sa-wing Batta

Last December at Dodger Camp.

Night Scrimmage

A little pre-season something-something.

Box of 1990 Unopened Packs

When your mom's friend goes to yard sales and cool swap meets on the weekends and keeps an eye out for you, your baseball card collection RULES. (So does your mom's friend.)

My Favorite

My favorite from Kauai: Mr. Rosenberg as base coach, Bob and his pals on the field. 

Photo by Phil Regan

Night Practice

This evening I took my usual place in the stands and watched the team practice. I could have dropped off Bob, gone home for awhile, and come back at the end to pick him up. And because there's nowhere else I'd rather be and nothing else I'd rather be doing, I stayed there, and I did that.  

Away

Five games this week. What more could you ask for?

Soon

Can't go in the dugout without a uniform. He's on the mend. 

Thursday Night

A two hour game followed by a two hour practice. It's cold. It's windy. It's late. They still play. I love baseball.

He's Back

The broken wrist has healed. The arm muscles are building back up. He's easing back into baseball and has three hits in the last four at bats. Ready to play ball.

Monday Metaphor

Sometimes the twelve-year-old first baseman on the opposing team is a little taller than you... and your base coach. 

Pockets Full of Sand

Third base looks strange with somebody else’s kid on it. My kid is in the dugout wearing a hard cast covering the wrist he broke at school two weeks ago. The opposing team is from Korea. Their players are only a year older than ours but already look like men.

“That pitcher swore to me he’s twelve. He showed me his birthdate on his driver’s license,” our coach says. It’s an old joke that doesn’t exactly work in this international context, but the parents huddled in the stands chuckle anyway. It’s cold outside for daytime in Southern California and it doesn’t feel like baseball weather. The black coat I’m wearing hasn’t been out of the trunk of the car since a trip to the beach last November. I can feel sand in the pockets.

“Heads up! Heads!” A foul ball hits the eucalyptus tree behind the bullpen, scattering a few wild parrots. The next pitch, a fastball, hits our batter in the bicep.

“That pitch looks good on you, son! Walk it off, Number 12,” our coach says.

“Way to wear it!” I can hear my son call out from his place on the sidelines.

We applaud as the batter takes his place on first base. The old metal risers we’re sitting on vibrate whenever anyone shifts in their seat. I wish I had brought a Thermos of coffee with me. I’m out of practice. The last few weeks of hospital visits and doctor’s appointments feel far away but we’re only in the middle of the healing process.

Our team takes the field. Their first batter fouls it off straight at his coach who jumps out of the way and yells out something in Korean. We all laugh. None of us speak the language, but from his tone we know he’s asking if his player is trying to kill him. Like dad jokes, coach jokes are universal.

My son closes the field gate behind him and walks past. “How’d you end up in a cast?” I hear a mom ask. He explains that he fell backwards on his arm horsing around at recess. The day he fell, when my phone rang I could see the name of the school on my caller ID. When I answered, all I could hear was my son screaming in the background.

“Yikes. Well, you’ll be back on the field before you know it,” the mom says.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says waving his cast and heads off in the direction of the bathrooms.

Smacksy Saturday Post: Sidelined

Hard cast comes off in eleven days. He'll be back.

At Dodger Camp

It was a glorious day. Photo by Laura Chin

Last Night

Moonball.

Practice

There was a time I used to think baseball was boring. That was before I understood all of the slow moving parts are just a build up for when The Most Unbelievable Play of All Time Happens. And sometimes it just keeps happening. You just have to wait for it. This makes baseball the opposite of boring.

Now I know.

And... We're Back

Tomorrow night is the first game of the fall season. Getting ready.

Technically, It's Not Baseball

"Hey, Mom - you wanna come see? I have to rest up for the game tonight so I put together a puzzle."

Smacksy Saturday Photo: On the Mound

Bob did some pitching today. Watching this always causes my palms to sweat.

That Too

"I can really see all of your hard work with your swing, Bob. You're a monster."

"A monster?"

"Yeah! You're doing great."

"Mom, "monster" isn't really a compliment. I think you mean I'm a beast."