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Just A Slice

August 13th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Unlike all-star Jen, I stunk at baseball-related activity as a kid. I even blew chunks when it came to T-ball, where my only responsibilities were to whack a sphere off a still podium (straight to the pitcher… if not the catcher), and make occasional motions towards lone grounders that happened to make their miserable way to the out-out-outfield where I spent my time picking dandelions and daydreaming about slugger Garrett Hawkins.

I hated playing ball. If, like me, you had the coordination of a zygote and the attention span of a goldfish, it was boring as sin. And even though I spent my evenings cheering on my older sisters, who all consistently made all-stars and pitched nail-biters while I clutched my “lucky” George Brett mini-bat, I really didn’t understand shit about the game. ZzZZZzzzZzzz.

As an adult I’m finally beginning to understand the beautiful nuances of America’s pastime, which is far more than just a game; instead, an ongoing, arduous test of focus and human steel. But that wouldn’t have made me any more interested as a tot.

If only the game had been a simpler one, with a rock solid result from every swing. Something I could’ve wrapped my tiny little head around. A game I could’ve seen and understood without so much as thinking. Something like…

Dude, I could have KILLED at Samurai T-ball. Absolutely KILLED.

Thanks, Chris!

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