Hell

This is the circle of hell known as (20^th ranked) North Central.  Clare led off the second inning of game one with a double off her high school teammate Vlasta; the two of them have been going at it since forever.  Alyssa followed with another double and scored on a single.  The score was 2-1 Elmhurst going into the bottom of the seventh inning.

The first batter for North Central made an out; the second was down in the count before singling.  Then came the line drive that barely cleared the fence for a walk-off North Central win.  There’s no coming back after a loss like that, at least not for mere mortals.  Elmhurst dropped the nightcap, 4-1.

And now we wait for the weekend, which starts off at Carthage College in Kenosha.  A perfect name, Carthage, signaling great victory or defeat.  The Romans would know what to do, and we better, too.

Walkup Music

You can’t tell the player without a scorecard—or walkup song.  Freshman year, Clare picked something straight out of Nashville.  Really, all country and western music sounds like “Okie from Muskogee” to me.  I’m just too “city” to care about heartbreak in a pickup truck.

So, imagine my surprise when Clare said she wanted a new song sophomore year.  “What about ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got that Swing)?” I suggested way too hopefully.  Alas, there would be no Duke Ellington to strike fear into the heart of opposing pitchers.  No, it would be MC Hammer instead.  But I have to admit, “Stop, Hammer Time!” does have a certain swagger to it.

And sometimes, as on Sunday, an element of prophecy, too.

The Fine Points of Theology and College Softball

The Fine Points of Theology and College Softball

These were our choices yesterday against 16^th (!) ranked Illinois Wesleyan—heaven, hell or limbo.  Translated into more secular terms, we could sweep, get swept or split.  The Bluejays went with option three, winning the first game 4-3 against an opponent who did not expect to be challenged.  What a difference a year makes.

I wish my father were here to watch his granddaughter play.  He’d have cheered on her first homerun of the season and pointed out the Jays’ “Polish Connection,” Clare and our new infielder Alyssa; she’s a transfer student who hadn’t played ball in going onto two years, courtesy of a bad experience with her first college coach.  All I can say is: Thank You, Coach.  Your loss has been our gain.  We now have someone who can play short and third equally well while giving Clare some much-needed protection in the batting order.

In the bottom of the first of game one, we had two runners on, one out and Clare up.  She smoked a ball to straightaway center field; the center fielder, who was already playing deep, only had time enough to back up two steps before she leaped and caught the ball.  Back in the old days, this would have counted as a sacrifice because both runners tagged up and advanced.  Alyssa then followed with the first of her three hits in the game.

Her next at-bat, Clare rifled a 1-0 pitch out to where the trees grow beyond the center field fence.  There is no greater joy—for me, at least—than to watch your child circle the bases as her teammates pour out of the dugout to congratulate her as she crosses the plate.  After that, all I could do was hold on, which Tiffany did, too.  Dizzy Dean turned into Harry Houdini, giving up nine hits and four walks in a complete game win.  But she got the outs when she had to, and everyone caught the ball.  That’s how you win.  A pity game two didn’t follow that script.

We get a day off before facing 20^th ranked North Central Tuesday afternoon and the choice again of heaven, hell or limbo.  I know which one my dad would take. 

P.J. Hoff

A very long time ago, as in a half-century or more, there was a TV weatherman by the name of P.J. Hoff, who included cartoons with his forecasts.  Among the characters in Hoff’s repertoire was the Vice-President in Charge of Looking Out the Window.  That’s me today, 24 hours before our first scheduled conference game.

It’s all blue sky and sunshine, along with a chill.  If we can take two tomorrow, that meteorological two out of three ain’t bad.

Killing Time

Elmhurst hasn’t played a game since getting back from Florida eight days ago and won’t play until Sunday, against Illinois Wesleyan.  A person of less faith would curse deity and weather, alone or together.  Trust me, I’m wavering.

All I can do is wait and keep my daughter calm.  She wants to play so badly, which becomes dangerous if you drop the “so”; anxious anticipation will do that.  My job is to accentuate the positive, then practice what I preach.  I also watch baseball to pass the time.

Two things about the White Sox: they have better hitting than last year and worse relief pitching, giving up nine runs the last two games.  There are a couple of guys who need to start checking flight times to Charlotte.  I also noticed something interesting on the opening day broadcast—the roving female reporter.

She went from section to section interviewing people.  I doubt this is anymore unique to the South Side than those college-age girls (and some guys) who toss tee-shirts into the crowd between innings or the female reporter who handles the postgame interview.  They’re always young, always attractive, but they never get to wear a uniform or play a position.

How come, Bud?

Conspiracy Theory

Opposing teams exist for my daughter to hate.  They’re all the Cubs to her, starting with Benedictine University.  As is always the case, there’s history involved.

A lot of it dates to a visit two years ago.  For some reason, the first game started an hour late and then went on for a good long time until we fell to the Eagles by a score of 13-11.  No one was worried about field conditions for the second game because Benedictine has lights, that is, they did until a goose flew into a generator.  Then we jumped ahead 7-0 by the second inning, and all of a sudden the Eagles turned to snails; never did a coach so allow players to dog it.  Naturally, we responded with hyper-hustle and a tendency to swing at anything—and I mean anything—that rolled our way.  Still, we tagged on another two runs; the only thing worse was letting Benedictine score four in the fourth.  Game called in the top of the fifth.  Goodbye two hits for Clare.  Thank you, goose.

Now, fast forward to Tuesday afternoon:  Benedictine calls during practice to postpone Wednesday’s doubleheader on account of expected rain, which just so happened to hold off until early Thursday morning.  What gives?  Clare thinks a five-game winning streak is the reason.  “They’re afraid we might break it.”  I hope she’s right.  It’s good to be feared. 

John Hamm, April Fool

The timing was perfect with Disney running an ad in today’s Trib sports’ section for Million Dollar Arm, the new John Hamm movie.  It’s based on those two young men from India who won a baseball throwing contest-cum-reality show.  Neither finalist had ever played ball, but the Pirates signed them anyway.  And that’s how little the national pastime thinks of women athletes.

As for Disney, they’re busy on a project that will focus on women in the 21^st century; I hear it has something to do with a princess.  April Fool.