Regarding T-Ball

The boys have ventured into the unknown this year.  Yup, team sports.  Or, sports at all, for that matter.  Given that approximately half of their DNA comes from yours truly, who could not coordinate her way out of a paper bag, they are, well, athletically challenged.

Enter the perfect situation.  Our good friends have asked our boys to join their T-ball team.  The boys know most of the players, they can be on the same team, and the coach is a wonderful friend of ours.  I also teach their son in my preschool class.  See?  Perfectly perfect.

Matty misses the birthday cut-off by a month and a half, but I ask my friend and she says that it will be fine.  Just register them ,and even though Matty is young, just tell the T-ball people that we have talked with Coach and he said it would be OK.  So I do.

Two weeks later, we get a call.  "Yes, Mr. Ferrario.  This is Cynthia from the baseball league.  We just wanted to let you know that Matty's case went before the board, and the board voted to allow him to play even though he is outside the age limit.  Coach Martin vouched for his abilities."

WHAT?!??!  He did what?  He put his name on the line for this guy?  Dear me. 

I immediately called my friend and said that this simply won't do.  I can not have Coach's reputation in the community completely trashed.  Do not vouch for his abilities!  What abilities?  He doesn't even have pants!

Well, Coach laughed and said it would all be fine.  But that was before practice started.

Since then, Matty has come down dressed and ready for his first practice.  Wearing two bracelets.  Last night, he went down to the garage to find a shovel to dig a big hole so the coaches could fall in it as they were racing at the end of practice.  And he was very mad at me for putting his pajamas on under his clothes last night in an attempt to keep him warm.  He wanted his PJ's on the outside, so that all of his friends could see, "that they glow in the dark."  How's that for abilities?  Glad to know that his head's really in the game.

Then, as big brother was sauntering his way to home plate to bat, Coach told him to hustle.  Mitch continued to lolly gag.  When he got back to the dugout  (or, "digout" as it is called by our resident Babe Ruth's), I asked him what it meant when Coach said to hustle.  I informed him it meant to run, Run, RUN!  "Oh, you mean 'hustle' means run, like, in Spanish or somethin'?

Strike Three.