Welcome to Pee-ball

 

Riley’s final tee-ball game was last night.  This tee-ball league is a- you don’t take score-no strikes-no outs-everyone gets to hit the ball kind of league.  It welcomes parents to run along with their children and expects parents to go on the field at least when the little siblings allow.  The youngsters (many as young as three) go through the motions of playing the game, but when they get tagged out, they don’t leave the base.  They keep running.  They get to continue the illusion that they are not out.  They continue the fascade by jumping and yelling when they finally get to home plate.  This was and -I will admit – continues to be difficult for me.  I don’t see myself as the ultra-competitive type.  Never mind. Yes I do.  And when you don’t take score, HOW ARE YOU TO KNOW FOR SURE WHO WON?  And when you don’t count outs and strikes, how is a child REALLY going to learn the game?  I know I sound like a jerk and this is what’s wrong with sports, and yes, my girl has told me this a lot which is why since the incident she’s been the one on the field directing Riley in tee-ball and I’m the one at the sidelines with the two-year-old crawling all over me and sticking his –DIRTY-fingers in my nose and ears and laughing.

 

What incident you may wonder?  Not that huge of a thing really.  I was simply trying to instruct Riley why it might make a little bit of sense to get off the baseline while playing first.  But no, he decided to argue, giving me lots of incorrect reasons why when playing first base, he’s expected to touch the base at all times.  I calmly went over one of the very few things about baseball that I actually know and that is that one does not stand on the baseline while playing first base or one will end up as a pancake on the baseline with a runner on second base.  How do I know this you wonder?  Some memories never fade.  Riley responded.  And by responded, I mean SCREAMED at the top of his lungs. “YOU CAN TAKE THE FUN OUT OF DISNEYLAND.”  I don’t even know where he heard that one.  The child has never been to Disneyland. I simply replied, “I will take the fun out of Disneyland by grounding you from it for the rest of your life.” 

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes.” I responded. 

This makes me want to digress into a subplot where Riley is an old man wanting to take his grandkids to Disneyland but is not allowed.  He couldn’t.  For he was still grounded.  But I don’t have the time to go there.  I still have to get to the point of the post which is this….

 

Without outs, innings go on until every batter bats.  This can be an incredibly long time as evidenced last night and makes for about a one-inning game. Anyway, last night Riley’s team batted first then his team took the field.  He fought for the coveted pitcher position but lost so he ended up playing short stop.  His teammate on second base started the pee-pee dance before the first batter was up to the plate.  By the time there was a runner on first and second, the baseman gave up and peed his pants.  The coach – may the goddess bless her patience- sweetly returned the child to his mortified father who graciously took the child to get a new pair of pants.  The coach asked Riley to cover second base and he obliged. 

 

Only Riley, somehow oblivious to the previous events, suddenly became very interested in the soaking wet second base.  Kim informed him to leave it alone because there was urine on it.  He went about telling every runner coming to second base to be careful because there was pee on the base.  Then while the next batter was at bat, the runner on second would ask Riley why he peed on the base and Riley would inform the runner that it wasn’t him that it was his teammate but he wasn’t going to tell them who because it doesn’t matter and because everybody has accidents and he didn’t want his friend to feel bad. 

 

Riley was drawing so much more attention to the pee and the accident than would ever have been noticed otherwise, but one thing I know about Riley is that if I corrected every annoying thing he did, he’d be in information overload and reject it all, so Kim and I continued our laissez-faire parenting and Riley continued pointing out the piss to passersby.  At one point after his announcement, the runner got so disgusted that she refused to tag the base which made Riley yell at the pitcher, “Hurry. Throw me the ball so I can get her out.”

 

I’ll be damned.  The kid’s learnin baseball after all.

 

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6 Responses to “Welcome to Pee-ball”

  1. Carrie Says:

    Pee Ball…Tee Ball, it’s all one and the same!

  2. Kelly B Says:

    this is just funny. i don’t even know HOW to respond…but it’s just funny.

    🙂

  3. DOUG Says:

    I KNEW IF YOU KEPT IT UP, YOU WOULD COME UP WITH SOME THING GOOD AND YOU NEVER REMINDED US YOU WERE GAY NOT EVEN ONCE.

    KEEP IT UP THIS WAS ONE OF YOUR BEST YET

    LOVE YA

  4. Flem Says:

    I think Riley may just be a baseball supergenius. I’ve heard of the hidden ball trick but never the “call attention to the urine-soaked base to make the runner not want to step on it, so throw me the ball and tag em’ out” play.

    If we had known that the FPC Res. Life softball team may have won a few more games!

    P.S. 1st base is dangerous even if you don’t play directly on the baseline. Take it from a former little league first baseman himself.

  5. Eric Says:

    I really do hate to take the fun outta Disneyland (I laughed out loud at that one and one of my students stuck her head around the door to see what was so funny) but…what if Riley doesn’t wanna have kids?

    Just sayin’ 😉

    E

  6. Matt Says:

    Really Rufus? I was hoping you wouldn’t turn into the kind of Dad my father was. Which is actually a pretty good dad, but the t-ball wasn’t fun. And I started years later than Riley.

    T-ball at 6?

    I was riding my bike around my town recently and stumbled upon a small baseball diamond. It was just me, a boy of maybe 8 at the plate, and presumably his dad on the mound. I had apparently just missed seeing a strike (I could be staring right at it and still miss one) and the dad yelled at the kid “Quit wasting my time.” He know doubt could have been billing a client for work on that sunny Saturday afternoon, if his type-A son hadn’t dragged him out to the field.

    So don’t feel constrained by the traditions of fatherhood with Riley. You can be that guy whose son was wasting his time, you can be my dad (you’re already hanging out in lobbies), you can be any kind of milk-making dad that you wanna be.

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