Clare called me first
thing yesterday morning to say that the White Sox had sent down Carson Fulmer
after his latest disaster of a start. My
daughter loves baseball no less than I do.
But she is her own person, one who has to spend today, a Sunday, at
work. She fully intends to stream some
NCAA playoff softball to watch when she’s not running around solving crises in
higher education. Me, I’ll probably turn
on the worst team in baseball.
I dearly miss watching
my daughter play softball; she has a swing so sweet it would make Ted Williams
smile, if only he could. I suspect Clare
misses playing, too, and watching this year’s whippersnappers will both bring
back memories and fuel her desire to become a college athletic
director/coach. She can leave the crappy
stuff, like watching those “rebuilding” White Sox, to me. After all, what are fathers for?
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