Baseball

Monday, February 27, 2012

My grandfather was a huge baseball fan.  I mean, huge.  He was of the classic, gentlemanly variety.  When he went to a baseball game, which he did as often as possible, he got a bag of peanuts.  And as he watched the game, analyzing each player's statistics (which he knew by heart in that magical way real baseball fans did before smartphones), he methodically ate the bag of salty treats.  Shells on the ground, of course. 

Naturally, my grandfather raised my father to be a huge baseball fan.  And while the team of choice for this father-son duo was the Baltimore Orioles, my dad also has (still) a soft spot for the New York Yankees.  

Of my siblings, I am probably the child most interested in sports.  And that is, shall we say, generous.  But I did grow up knowing that baseball was cool.  I knew that Cal Ripken, Jr. played shortstop, was awesome, and was cooler than his brother, Billy.  (I would apologize to Billy, but that chip has been on his shoulder for so long that it doesn't even matter.)


In fact, we had a short-lived fundraiser at my high school where we were supposed to sell "Cal Bars."  I recall them being a lot like a candy bar.  They cost one dollar.  No one sold very many; we just ate them.  I have no idea what they were supposed to be "for."  But, thanks to the magic of the Interwebs, I found proof that they did, in fact, exist:


Durel, of course, is a Houston Astros fan.  


Jack knows what a ball is at this point (and throws them with impressive speed and accuracy, actually), but doesn't know one sport from another yet.  He is in the crucial formative years for his lifelong sports franchise allegiance development.

I'm dabbling in clothing that might have an effect.  I didn't realize that I was amassing a baseball wardrobe for him until the other day, when he wore his Red Sox shirt one day, and his Phillies shirt the next.  That's not to mention his Cubs shirt, which is awaiting its debut.


For my friends not on the East Coast who might be squinting at that picture, this is what you're looking at:



Though this might be even cooler:

I love me some Liberty Bell.

Anyway, candy bars and cracked bells aside, I think this is a cool thing for us to embark on with Jack as he truly becomes a Little Dude.  This probably means that I have to do something about my spaghetti throwing arm and not so awesome catching ability.

Sigh.  For now, I'll just keep buying Jack t-shirts.  And, I think, playing catch in the yard.

Batter up,
Heather

1 comment:

Monday, February 27, 2012

Baseball

My grandfather was a huge baseball fan.  I mean, huge.  He was of the classic, gentlemanly variety.  When he went to a baseball game, which he did as often as possible, he got a bag of peanuts.  And as he watched the game, analyzing each player's statistics (which he knew by heart in that magical way real baseball fans did before smartphones), he methodically ate the bag of salty treats.  Shells on the ground, of course. 

Naturally, my grandfather raised my father to be a huge baseball fan.  And while the team of choice for this father-son duo was the Baltimore Orioles, my dad also has (still) a soft spot for the New York Yankees.  

Of my siblings, I am probably the child most interested in sports.  And that is, shall we say, generous.  But I did grow up knowing that baseball was cool.  I knew that Cal Ripken, Jr. played shortstop, was awesome, and was cooler than his brother, Billy.  (I would apologize to Billy, but that chip has been on his shoulder for so long that it doesn't even matter.)


In fact, we had a short-lived fundraiser at my high school where we were supposed to sell "Cal Bars."  I recall them being a lot like a candy bar.  They cost one dollar.  No one sold very many; we just ate them.  I have no idea what they were supposed to be "for."  But, thanks to the magic of the Interwebs, I found proof that they did, in fact, exist:


Durel, of course, is a Houston Astros fan.  


Jack knows what a ball is at this point (and throws them with impressive speed and accuracy, actually), but doesn't know one sport from another yet.  He is in the crucial formative years for his lifelong sports franchise allegiance development.

I'm dabbling in clothing that might have an effect.  I didn't realize that I was amassing a baseball wardrobe for him until the other day, when he wore his Red Sox shirt one day, and his Phillies shirt the next.  That's not to mention his Cubs shirt, which is awaiting its debut.


For my friends not on the East Coast who might be squinting at that picture, this is what you're looking at:



Though this might be even cooler:

I love me some Liberty Bell.

Anyway, candy bars and cracked bells aside, I think this is a cool thing for us to embark on with Jack as he truly becomes a Little Dude.  This probably means that I have to do something about my spaghetti throwing arm and not so awesome catching ability.

Sigh.  For now, I'll just keep buying Jack t-shirts.  And, I think, playing catch in the yard.

Batter up,
Heather
 
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