Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
This Week in Baseball
- The Orioles—Caleb and Owen wearing Wieters jerseys—defeated me soundly, 54-4.
- In the aforementioned game, I went web gem on the kids. After a weakly-hit pop-up presented one of my rare opportunities to record an out, I went after it as though the pennant depended on it. Full dive following a full sprint, arm extended. Out. Teri witnessed it. I’m pretty sure she fell in love with me all over again.
- This week, the boys started to use a wooden Louisville slugger Derek Jeter-model bat. Caleb also insists on using hard baseballs. This has window replacement written all over it. Well worth the cost.
- Because we have no fireworks, Caleb and Owen decided their “firework” celebration would be filling a water rifle from the pool and "firing" the loaded squirt gun directly into the sky showering water over the trotting home run hitter.
- Owen insists on wearing baseball pants—regardless of the heat stroke which may ensue. Owen MUST look like a baseball player daily. Tantrums follow if Teri or I demand shorter pants. Our saving grace was the photo below: Alex Rios is wearing shorts in a spring training practice proving that, indeed, baseball players are not in pants all of the time. Now, any time Owen is sentenced to his shorts, he says, “Like that Blue Jay guy.”
- Caleb’s knowledge of baseball continually impresses me. In a rare rally, I had the bases filled with ghost runners. I grounded to Owen who threw to Caleb at first. After getting me out, Caleb fired the ball back to Owen (who was standing on second) and yelled, “Tag him [the ghost runner].” Few six year-olds know that the ghost runner must be tagged when the force play was already made at first. Heck, I'm not sure that Lastings Milledge knows that one yet.
- Despite Caleb's knowledge of the game, he still thinks it's called a "groundhog double" when a ball bounces over the fence. It would be easily correctable, but it's too cute to correct.
- I was catching the other day; Caleb was pitching. I signaled 1. He shook me off. He continued to shake off 2, 3, 4, and 5. He then said he wanted to throw #6. I took my glove off; he nodded approval. Then he asked what pitch #6 was.
- I asked Caleb the date. He didn't know. I said, "Neil Walker." He said, "The 18th." The kid knows his scorecard.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
I went to high school with...
The funniest joke I have is “I went to high school with a guy/girl named _____________.” That’s really all I’ve got.
Ordinary conversation will inevitably pair words together that could pass for a name. For instance, a kid may say, “I forgot my gym clothes.” Like John Nash’s numerical pattern detection in A Beautiful Mind, I automatically hear the words as a name. I will say, “I went to a high school with a kid named Jim Cloze.” Then I’ll fictionalize a one-sentence biography. “He ran the third leg of the 4 x 100 relay on our track team—fast kid.” If you don’t think that’s funny, neither does Teri. She hasn’t laughed at this type of joke since 1997—and then it was out of dating obligation. Since that laughter, I’ve told such jokes as frequently as the Pirates have lost games. And in response—if Teri is that audience—crickets.
After grocery shopping, Teri told the boys that she got—among other things whose names could not pass for classmates—Colby Jack cheese. On cue, I said, “I went to high school with a kid named Colby Jack-Cheez. I knew him in elementary school as Colby Jack, but his mother re-married a Dr. Cheez when he was in high school. Not wanting to relinquish his birth name, but wanting to comply with his mother’s wishes, he became Colby Jack-Cheez.” I found it hilarious. And I often find the silence that follows equally hilarious. But today was different. My boys were laughing. I mean laughing. Clearly, they couldn’t have followed the name change due to re-marriage, but they were laughing. Teri, unsmiling, turned from the passenger’s seat and said, “Well, you’ve got your audience.”
I’ve got my audience. Just wait until one of them says, “I need to go potty.”
I went to high school with a girl named Anita Gopottee. She…”
Ordinary conversation will inevitably pair words together that could pass for a name. For instance, a kid may say, “I forgot my gym clothes.” Like John Nash’s numerical pattern detection in A Beautiful Mind, I automatically hear the words as a name. I will say, “I went to a high school with a kid named Jim Cloze.” Then I’ll fictionalize a one-sentence biography. “He ran the third leg of the 4 x 100 relay on our track team—fast kid.” If you don’t think that’s funny, neither does Teri. She hasn’t laughed at this type of joke since 1997—and then it was out of dating obligation. Since that laughter, I’ve told such jokes as frequently as the Pirates have lost games. And in response—if Teri is that audience—crickets.
After grocery shopping, Teri told the boys that she got—among other things whose names could not pass for classmates—Colby Jack cheese. On cue, I said, “I went to high school with a kid named Colby Jack-Cheez. I knew him in elementary school as Colby Jack, but his mother re-married a Dr. Cheez when he was in high school. Not wanting to relinquish his birth name, but wanting to comply with his mother’s wishes, he became Colby Jack-Cheez.” I found it hilarious. And I often find the silence that follows equally hilarious. But today was different. My boys were laughing. I mean laughing. Clearly, they couldn’t have followed the name change due to re-marriage, but they were laughing. Teri, unsmiling, turned from the passenger’s seat and said, “Well, you’ve got your audience.”
I’ve got my audience. Just wait until one of them says, “I need to go potty.”
I went to high school with a girl named Anita Gopottee. She…”
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