Déjà
vu,
Again
I’ve
been scoring Clare’s games since Bronco Ball.
It gives me something to do while trying to cope with the perpetual 0-2
counts. Hey, Dad, did you see how I
didn’t give in to her? Dad? Why are you all sweaty?
A
father with a notebook does draw attention, though. After Clare’s sophomore year in high school,
her coach asked me to “keep the book,” or be the team’s official scorer. My duties included scoring the game;
computing team batting averages and ERAs; and calling newspapers with the
recap. For home games, I also rated the umpires,
but we won’t get into that.
Probably the
most important thing was being able to answer the question, “What did she do
last time?” Games are won or lost by how
fast and accurate the answer is. The
coach wants to know if he should pitch around this batter or shade his second
baseman towards the line. We live in an
information age.
Yesterday, my notebook ways struck
again. Clare’s college coach asked if I’d
keep the book come Florida. It won’t
involve as much as in high school, just being able to tell him what the
opposing batter has done. And a friendly
word of advice from my daughter: “I don’t
want you in the dugout.” After all, kids
needs their space, sacred or profane.
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