3 Innings -- That's a Baseball Game

My eight-year-old son is playing real baseball for the first time. No tees to hit the ball off. No coaches pitching to you when the kids your own age can't get the ball across the plate. No coming to games in whatever Mom scrounged out of the dirty clothes hamper. You are expected to have a full uniform -- clean of course -- that matches all your teammates uniforms. Oh, and you have to wear a cup.

You know how they say little pictures (or is it pitchers?) have big ears. My son asked me what purpose the cup served. I tossed back to him, "It's to protect your family jewels."

Mistake. After spending about 20 minutes explaining what family jewels are, why they call them that, what could happen to your family jewels, I was ready for a new topic of conversation. But my son was still fascinated by his jewels. He ran about the living room, punching himself in his new cup, and saying: "Hard family jewels, Mom! Look, my jewels are hard!"

Good thing grandma wasn't around to see that.

I had forgotten what baseball games at the lowest level are like. The rule is 3 outs or 13 batters. None of the kids can pitch consistently. So, if you stand there long enough, chances are you are going to get a walk. Most of our team stood there and got their walks. Not my son. He was going down swinging. He was swinging like he was hanging from the ceiling of a front porch. He was swinging like a broken gate. He was going to strike out.

But the third pitch hit him in the hand, so he got to take his base. "I took one for the team, Mom!," he yelled at me in the stands. "Just don't take one in the HEAD for the team," I yelled back. The cardinal rule at our house: Protect your melon. Now, our second rule: Protect your jewels.

It took one hour to finish that first inning, what with everybody walking. Still, I'd rather be shivering in the stands watching that than at any corporate function I've ever attended or ever dreamed of attending.