From the mind of a 9-year-old…
“Okay, so here I am at second base. I’m hot. Our orange shirts match the dirt. Look at those funny little holes my cleats make. If I just move my foot back and forth, back and forth… well, look at that! It’s like a rainbow. Wow! Uh-oh, Coach just yelled at me to stop drawing with my shoe. I better look up… shoot, that scary girl is at bat. Hit it to me! I’m ready!”
Twenty years later…
“Okay, so here I am at third. God, my quads are killing me. My back too. Which reminds me, I forgot to call my PCP today for that referral. Oh, there’s a big rock in the dirt. Let me pick that up and throw it to the side. Someone could really get hurt out here. I hope I don’t trip and skin my knee. That will look terrible when I’m in my meeting tomorrow. Oh sh**, that big guy is at bat. Oh, don’t hit it at me. I don’t think I can move.”
Cheers from a 9-year-old's bench…
“We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!”
“Hey, batta-batta…suhhhhh-wing… batta-batta!”
“I see a hole out there! I see a hole out there! I see an H-O-L-E HOLE out there!”
Twenty years later…
“Don’t pull something!”
“You hit this, I’ll never ask you for another TPS report!”
“Only a few more outs and then we can go get beers!”
A 9-year-old after the game…
“When’s our next game, Coach? Huh? Huh?”
Twenty years later…
“Whew… thank God I have a week to recover before we play again. Where’s my Advil?”
2 comments:
A 9-year-old:
after hitting a home run, can run around all the bases, and still have plenty of energy to run around celebrating...
20 years later:
pauses slightly in the batter-on-deck area to finish catching her breath before returning to the bench...
9 year-old:
"Sweet mom brought orange slices"
20 years later:
"I am so glad the boys brought cold beer"
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