Tuesday’s snow yielded
to Wednesday’s sun, except in those spots where the shade prevailed. It reminded me of the time when Clare was a
sophomore at Morton and her coach called and asked me to help him shovel snow
out of the dugouts so they could get a game in early in the season. Such are spring sports in the Midwest.
The past few days I’ve
gone to pick up Michele from the train I’ve spotted this incredibly skinny kid
walking along Harlem Avenue; just like my daughter once upon a time, he had two
bats sticking out of his backpack. Late
yesterday afternoon, I saw Morton baseball players huddled around the pitcher’s
mound to receive the collective wisdom of their coaches. The skinny kid was probably there, dreaming
the dreams of an adolescent athlete.
By this afternoon,
Coach P and his Elmhurst Bluejays should be in Florida, getting ready to start
their season; I prefer memories of Florida to those of March snow. But all my baseball and softball comes from a
distance these days; that’s just the way things are. Come April, though, I can be back in the
stands, alone or, better yet, with that know-it-all everyone tells me has my
exact same personality. To which I say,
it takes one to know one. Play ball,
please, soon.
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