I love baseball. I've always loved baseball. When I was a kid, we'd get up, go outside and play baseball. If we had three kids, we had a game. If we had 12 kids, we had a game. We played with wiffle balls, baseballs, tennis balls, racket balls, snow balls.
We played hours of "hot box" in blue jeans and metal spikes.
We used shirts, 2x4s, frisbees and carpet samples for bases.
At night when Mom wanted us to come in, we fought it as long as we could. Basically, the movie Sandlot was my childhood summer experience.
I didn't have 1/4 of the talent and ability my son has but to this day, I wish I could still play.
My son loves baseball. He can't wait to play the next game and when he crosses that white line he is all about winning that game. Nothing else matters in the world but playing that game at that moment.
But we look around and we're surrounded by boys who will miss games because they're tired from football practice. They'll skip games to go to graduation parties. They'll whine about pitching because of a slightly sore arm. One boy quit because his girlfriend doesn't want him to play. Girlfriend?!?! Puhlllleezzzzee!
Other teams will cancel because they can't field a team...or they don't want to play a team that will beat them.
Where's the passion that I have? Too many distractions that weren't around 30 years ago? Video games? Year round sports? 24 hour news channels? Global warming?
What the heck is wrong with kids these days?
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