Full disclosure on this--it's been a long day, I'm tired, emotionally drained, and just a little bit drunk, so if this doesn't make any sense, I'm sorry. I'll probably read it tomorrow and delete it. Or I'll leave it as it is for posterity--it's honest. I've been sitting in front of a blank computer screen for nearly 3 hours now, and only the last 15 minutes have I been able to type anything that I didn't back-space into oblivion immediately thereafter.
I've been watching Marek play baseball again the last few weeks. At the end of last season I didn't think he would play again, so I'm glad he decided to. It's a genuine joy to watch him. But here's the thing--when he's gotten up to bat the last few games, he's been particularly choosy about the pitches he wants to swing at. Often those pitches are strikes, and its frustrating, because I know that he can hit them. I've seen him step up to the plate and knock the snot out of the first pitch he sees.
I was talking to him about that after his last game, and he had every reason under the sun why he didn't swing; the wind kicked dust up, the pitch was too high, or too low... and maybe he's right, to a degree. But when the umpire is calling them strikes, they're strikes. No instant replays or reversing the ruling on the field in baseball. So I told him to swing at anything and everything close. Because I know he can hit them, even when he doesn't think he can.
Been thinking a lot the last couple of weeks about my own metaphorical at-bats. I got thrown a curve ball or two, and I had my own excuses as to why I struck out looking--wanting the perfect pitch, and not seeing them when they were thrown. But the reality is that I when I stepped up to the plate, I wasn't swinging the bat the right way (get your minds out of the gutter--I'm still talking baseball, sort of).
So, dear reader, you may be asking, what's my point? I guess it's that I'm hoping for another pitch; that there can be joy in Mudville again.
