The All-Star

Major league baseball should give my daughter an award; better yet, they should hire her because she gives a damn’.  Yesterday, she was out of the house by 7 AM to drive up to Evanston, where she worked a softball camp at Northwestern (it pays to network with coaches at tournaments).  Basically, Clare spent five hours throwing soft-toss to girls with college softball dreams.  Then, she fought rush-hour traffic to get home in time for dinner and All-Star Homerun Derby on ESPN.  Today, Clare goes back to Valparaiso and spend a day doing softball stuff in the office, after which she’ll watch the All-Star Game.  Go, Chris Sale.

The girl was a baseball All-Star herself, twice in Mustang Ball.  Her coach was bright enough to pick her, which is more than I can say for the guys coaching the actual game that first year; they let the only female All-Star bat but not field.  Oh, and she got a hit in her first All-Star at-bat, a sharp single to left. 

Her second All-Star appearance she entered the homerun derby, but nothing happened that day.  Clare had to wait another two years for when she was a 12-year old Bronco.  Now, that was a homerun derby.  The only girl among 25 boys finished fifth, consistently hitting the ball to the wall, if not quite over.  But there was plenty of power to come in high school and college.

I can barely remember who won yesterday (Todd Frazier) and haven’t a clue about last year’s winner.  I have far more important All-Star memories to hold onto.