I’m watching the Houston Astros. They win with football scores these days. 19 to 5. 10 to 2.
It reminds me of when my son Will played baseball in the seventh grade.
Big kid ball. Hard throws. Fast bats. Dangerous collisions on a slide.
Never Missed a Game
I never missed a game my kids played in little league. When Will played that last year, I’d sit behind the fence near the umpire.
I’d order a coke and a large bag of salted, toasted peanuts, and commentate the game. (Not in a bad way. It was peppered with jokes. I usually had the umpires laughing, too. I was there to enjoy my son’s happiness).
One time, my son’s pitcher threw a ball, and I said, “Good pitch.”
The umpire walked over to me and said, “I called that a ball.” (Not in an angry, but in an inquisitive way. He probably expected me to argue with him. You could tell from his body language).
I cracked a peanut and said, “Not all good pitches are strikes.”
He said,”That’s true,” put his mask back on and restarted the game.
I wish we could all reason together when we disagree.
What do you think of this video of an interview with Ernest Hemingway right after he won the Nobel Prize for literature?
I found it disturbing.
Yes, he had been in two plane crashes in Africa before then, but he appeared to have lost something from his earlier years.
I’ve written 500 words a day on my manuscript for the last month. I can really feel the story coming out of me right now. That is always a great feeling, but it makes me worry about tomorrow. Writing really can be a disease.