(click on the picture to enlarge it)

Something strange happened to me last night. I enjoyed a sports event. I went to my five year old grandson’s T-ball game. I should tell you up front that I am not a sports fan of any kind – not baseball, football, basketball, not hockey, soccer, (boys or girls - live or TV) not lacrosse, not tennis nor golf not Nascar, not even Superbowl, World Series, or the Final Eight or Four or whatever.

I’m not interested in anything where I have to sit for long periods of time and watch somebody else doing spectacular feats that I could never do (or be allowed to try to do when I was the age to do them) not to mention the fact that I ‘m not supposed to talk at any of these things and, in fact, am told to quit talking ….which is very rude of them I think.

Dancing with the Stars is as sporty as I care to watch….love those sparkly, low cut outfits, and the shoes are just amazing….but I digress
We grandmothers have duties which we have to fulfill, and I strive to show an interest in any and everything concerning my first grandson. (Barney was a real trial and TeleBabies were an insult to even toddler intelligence and
and let’s just forget the Wiggles, please.) Wait, still digressing, I see.

My grandson’s T-ball game was the subject here. In case you are unfamiliar with T ball – the ball is placed on top of this pipe thingy for the little ones to hit. No frustrating pitching and swinging at air. I laughed out lout the first time, one of the players whopped the pipe itself and sent it flying. From the dirty looks I got, I assumed that was not proper T-ball bleacher etiquette so restrained myself the next several times it happened.





All these three foot boys and girls were being taught the basics, I could tell. The coaches were very positive and patient. My heart went out to the little girl who was just sitting on second base staring into the outfield (she was a runner, btw, not the second baseplayer.) Coach ran out and picked up her helmet (which somehow was quite a distance away) and put it back on her and explained to her that she needed to watch the batter so she could run to third back when they hit the ball. The behind the plate coach was helping the batters with proper stance and bat holding. I loved the kid who had batting gloves on. I gathered he was the head coach’s.

Most of the five year olds, including mine, were more interested in the dirt on the field than the play. Well, after all, baseball is sooooo slooow at the best of times, and T-ball is not a competition. No score is kept. They play for an hour and quit. Everyone gets to swing as many times as it takes to knock that stubborn orb from its throne, ….and not one was put out in this game. (don’t know if that is usual or not) Of course, these kids are too young to have their tender feelings bruised by failure…however, are they in for a rude awakening next year!!!!!

The parents were on good behavior at this early stage in their sports attendance. I’ll quit attending when the yelling and arguing starts and certain more talented kids get to play all the time and others get spinters in their little behinds from the benches. But I already noticed one highly active little guy fighting over the ball to the encouragement of some adults.

I’d say most of the kids were there for the novelty and maybe the uniforms. Standard procedure was to drag the bat through the dirt on the way to the plate. Kicking the dirt occupied most of the fielders attention (it was a windy day). My grandson (always one to investigate anything) was picking it up and letting it funnel through his fist. Not sure if he was testing soil consistency or wind direction and/or windspeed.

Not too sure how enthusiastic First Grandson is about the sport to tell the truth. The only thing he told me initially was that when it was over he got fruit rollups and a Hawaiian punch pouch drink. Well, after all, I’ve toiled for less reward myself.

it’s just me, geni