taking a break

This clip is not timely, and the song choice has nothing to do with anything I might want to say tonight. But I'm up to my ears in finals week prep, and thus especially prone to distraction. Flipping post-football channels-- which actually is unlike me-- I ran across the rerun of this. I didn't expect to like it--nobody else should sing that song-- but I enjoyed it, so here it is. Take the Japanese titles as an ESL touch (or evidence of who gets better bootlegs).

For the love of the game

This won’t win me any parenting awards, not that I’d have any use for them, but I’ll spend six hours on the road Friday – 400 miles total – driving my son and his two-team teammate to Ankeny for the opening game of the Iowa USSSA baseball tournament and back to Cedar Rapids for an evening double header with the sophomore squad from the cross-town rival school and back to Ankeny, where action resumes at 8 a.m. Saturday.

Six hours of driving for six hours of baseball doesn’t leave much time for anything but sleep. I guess I’ll leave the bike at home.

Scheduling just happened to work out to make this insane adventure possible. It needs a name, perhaps the Ethanol 400?

With gas prices approaching $4 a gallon, I’d probably come out ahead by renting a Prius. Except it wouldn’t hold the traveling circus of bat bags, lawn chairs, coolers, canopies and various other equipment that goes with baseball players and their parents. Add 200 miles on the (second) return trip home Sunday, and my Jeep Grand Cherokee will burn through 40 gallons this weekend.

Add the cost of the hotel, meals and concession stand Gatorade and I don’t even want to do the math. After buying the golden boy a $300 bat for his birthday (not to mention a $200 phone and subsequent $60 repair bill), it’s clear that money is no object when it comes to baseball – or my son.

Maybe someday he’ll appreciate it. But even if not, I will have these memories of this special time. To me, that’s priceless.

Fun times

So tonight's softball opponent didn't show, superior communication options notwithstanding. I was all set to be a base coach. Instead, I pitched batting practice.

I'm not sure the girls got much out of it, other than whatever modicum of confidence one gains from hitting the ball, hard, off of an old man whose only objective is to give you a pitch you can hit without hitting you in the process.

As for my own little player, I love the effort. She didn't like it much when I threw her out at first base, but what's a dad to do? But she swung the bat, and she hit the ball, and she laughed when I nearly took a liner in the chest. And she works her tail of at catcher, a position I adore.

Perhaps she knows this. Perhaps next time we come home and she gets out a bucket of balls, I'll work with her. Perhaps it's time she gets the attention her brother enjoyed. He's bloomed into a solid ballplayer and there's no reason to think she won't too.

Regardless, time spent throwing batting practice or just playing catch is priceless.

Blather and Understatement

Not just the name of a band formed by two former colleagues in a past life, but an appropriate title for what you will read in this post, if you so choose.

Over the span of the last nine days, I've done something I never imagined and something I said I'd never do again. Both were gratifying in their own way, and both were emotionally exhausting.

A week ago Friday, I married my step-brother. It's legal, apparently, not that we be married -- but that I could officiate his marriage to his wife -- a perfectly heterosexual female, in case anyone cares. By virtue of my online ordination with the Universal Life Church, I may legally officiate weddings, funerals, and all sorts of "religious" observances.

Though my previous experience was limited to "funerals" for a pet dog and cat, I confidently officiated the wedding on a sun-splashed beach in Jacksonville, Fla. I didn't realize going in how meaningful it would be to me.

I was armed with a "sermon" found on the Internets -- modified slightly by a reading of John Lennon's "Love" by Scott's real brother, Michael, and taped inside the pages of a Brett Favre book that appropriately served as the bible for this holy ceremony. I said -- or rather, read -- some things about marriage that seemed to strike a cord with many in attendance. Afterward, several people asked me if I had written it. One woman even asked where my church is.

There are no plans to open Lonnie's Mega Church anytime soon, and I'm not sure my ordination will serve me again. This wedding was special, and I think that's what made it so gratifying. However, ordination lasts a lifetime and I'm always open to new experiences.

Today, I was director -- again -- of the second annual rain-shortened play-like-it's-spring-damnit! baseball tournament (not its official name). You don't have to be crazy to run a baseball tournament, but it sure helps.

For the second year in as many tries, Mother Nature was not our friend. Last year, a mid-week snowfall forced us move parts of the tournament and confine others to Sunday only. This year, persistent rain and cold and Murphy's Law mucked things up again. After reshuffling the deck for a Sunday-only tournament again, it was apparent on Saturday that we had to cancel altogether.

Except we had a team in from Chicago that was already in the area. After a less-than-satisfying tournament experience in Kansas City last summer, I was determined not to let this team return home without playing any baseball. So we moved the 14-year-olds to the only field close to playable, and made it happen for four teams.

It was still too cold for baseball -- maybe 43 in the sun and behind a wind block -- but four teams were able to play six games over the course of nine hours. Perhaps appropriately, the Chicago team took home the hardware. My son's team gave reason for optimism and I was proud as ever to see Zach step up to the plate, take his position at shortstop and, for the first time in probably five years, start a game at pitcher. On the day, he pitched 2-1/3 innings of no-hit baseball.

Me? I'm spent. The mundane and routine sounds pretty appealing right now.

Ungrounded

I finally ungrounded wonder boy tonight. Technically, he's not off the hook until after his last final tomorrow. In reality, I'm not sure being grounded means anything to him. I know it doesn't mean to him what it meant for me.

Oh, sure, the no allowance part will leave you sweating when the Girl Scout cookies arrive. But when you're going on 15, banished to your room is hardly punishment at all.

That's not how I remember it, though I was also never grounded because of grades. Instead, it was always because I'd done something stupid.

I wasn't one to hang out at the house much, or my room for that matter. I owned a car -- granted, a Pinto -- before I could drive. At this age, a moped was the preferred mode of transportation, and I didn't even own a helmet. Come to think of it, that was often the source of the grounding incidents.

My first question, in response to my dad's edict, was always, "For how long?" At least I said something!

The response was always a dagger. "Until I say you're not."

Ouch!

This was followed by one to two weeks, depending on the infraction, of indentured servitude before I would finally muster up the nerve to ask to be ungrounded. It seems the answer was almost always yes, but that I never asked without having earned my release.

Alas, too often I just wound up doing something stupid again the next day or two. Being grounded won't mean much to wonder boy until he appreciates the joy of being ungrounded.

Go Pack Go

I've had the great fortune of attending many Packers games over the years, and they've all been memorable. But I can't imagine a better Lambeau experience than what this youtuber captured.

Klik foetoe for nonsins

I guess you had to have been there, though there wasn't really room on the couch. I'm not sure how we got from a story about spelling something, or not, for a first grade niece, to the inevitable ITA tale, to the hark, oh man, I wonder--what if there's a font? There's nothing like a random quest, at least to my Taurus brain, and wireless internet is nothing if not a great enabler. I count it as a sign of my personal growth and progress that I gave up trying to convert that text into a jpg so I could post a decent image, and let go the thought of going door to door to install the font itself on all four of your computers so I could type my whole damn post in my grade school secret code. That would have been perfect. Last night was just perfectly fun.