Homerun Derby

In our house, the day before the All-Star Game matters just as much as the game itself, if not more.  Clare will spend two hours watching major-league hitters and critiquing their swings.  She can’t help herself, what with winning two homerun derbies and all.

It started nine years ago, at a 16u nationals’ tournament in suburban Kansas City.  It was a “90/60” day, 90 degrees heat to go with 60 percent humidity.  The homerun hitting contest followed the inevitable deluge.  Never has a child been more enthralled by a challenge.  There wasn’t any trophy that day, just a vow made very quietly, Wait ’till next year.

And when it came, we were in another complex outside of Kansas City.  This time, Clare unloaded nine homerun balls in ten pitches, good enough for a share of the championship.  I can still remember the balls sailing through an afternoon sky, flashes of yellow headed for a distant fence.  Two years later, in suburban Chattanooga, Clare won the title outright.  And the college homeruns were still to come.

So, the girl’s entitled to sit on the couch tonight and offer commentary.  She’s been there, done that.