At age 11, there were very few things I hated more than piano lessons, but at the top of the list was Baseball…  You see, there was actually a time when I sorta liked baseball, but that had been Pee Wee League a few years prior.  But then some kid in Florida got hit in the head by a pitch & died, so of course… that was pretty much the end of my baseball career.  Or at least I thought it was…


Pause…  This will not be a blog about baseball… or age 11… or piano lessons…  And yet it WILL BE about all those things because that’s how we got here.  I’ve long held back at starting a blog, but now that I have, I like to think it’ll sort of be like Seinfeld… which was the show about nothing.  But it will also be about everything.  So now that I’ve gotten that clarifying mission statement out of the way, back to the story…


Baseball was there one day & gone the next and to be honest, I never really missed it all that much.  I think I was probably too young to even realize it was missing.  Then one day, two years later, my dad picks me up from my best friend’s house on a Saturday following a sleepover.  When I get in the truck, I noticed my old glove was on the bench of the truck.  Strange things were afoot at the Circle K my friends.

Instead of going home, we stopped at the local ball field, where apparently every other kid my age had all gathered.  Dad hands me the glove & tells me to go play… I had no clue what was actually happening.  I’m pretty sure that I convinced all the coaches that day that I was a space cadet, because they kept asking me questions about teams, positions, & tryouts and I kept telling them I wasn’t even supposed to be there… that I was just killing time while my dad talked with the other dads over under the shade trees.


I can only imagine the power struggle that must have taken place at home.  My mom had successfully won the argument for two years and there was no baseball for me.  To this day, I still don’t know if my dad actually won the argument or simply just signed me up and took me to the tryout.  In the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter.


In those two years of not playing, I went from being an average baseball player to a downright awful baseball player.  And as such, I hated almost every minute of it.  My career highlight occurred in my first game when they put me in left field and I caught a pop fly to end an inning.  I can’t tell you much about it because I tracked the ball up off the bat & looked straight into the sun.  I had no clue where that ball was, but I stuck my glove up & by divine intervention, the ball landed there.  I should’ve retired right then…

But instead, I went on to a Little League Career Batting Average of .010…  My hitting was so bad that I intentionally took pitches thrown at me just to get on base.  How’s that for cosmic irony?  Still want more?
Well my second & final year of Little League, I was “rewarded” with a spot on the All-Star Team.  Not because I suddenly became a great player in the off season…  No, I was basically rewarded for having a late birthday and being on a very, VERY bad team.  All of my friends from the prior year (mostly my school classmates) had graduated & moved up to the next level of ball.  Which left me on a team with a bunch of 9 & 10 year olds that didn’t win a game all season.  But every team in the league had to be represented on the All-Star Team, so I was rewarded for being the best player on a VERY bad team…  Something every other kid on the All-Star Team was eager to remind me of…


I gave up baseball shortly after that…  And I gave up piano lessons about the same time…  And it was probably about this age that I started to give up on God too.  I couldn’t have put words to it at that age, but I’m still pretty sure it started about then.  Fortunately, he never gave up on me…  That’s not irony … That’s just Jesus…

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