It's 9AM.
This is how it starts.
Not ugly because there is beauty in the effort.
Moments of purity because it is all based on things you can’t control.
Luck. Timing. Wind.
And the way the opposition lines up.
The cards stacked against you.
If the obstacle is the way, then it starts with the pitcher.
A fight between a 12 year old kid who wants to strike you out and earn the approval of his coach and his father.
Plus the accolades of the crowd, cheering and yelling.
And you, a ten year old two months shy of eleven, wanting to live up to the reason everyone yells when you step to the plate.
Dingers.
Baseball has been called the thinking man’s game because it is so mental.
I have been told you have to be mental to enjoy it, by people who prefer a more frantic pace.
Call me crazy.
Call me insane.
Because what I tell #10 is to ignore the cheers.
Ignore the boos.
Swing the bat at a pitch you love because that might be the one.
Play because you love playing.
He nods like he understands me.
Then, I give him whispered instructions that the coach can’t hear.
Because parents have been warned about coaching behind the backstop.
Yelling through the fence at little people who are supposed to be trained to listen to what we say.
My five words of advice to him aren’t how to stand in the back of the box because this kid is throwing heat.
It’s not to choke up and swing.
It’s not even my favorite advice his mother wears on a rubber bracelet sometimes and we’ve seen on a Mama Ball tee shirt.
Don’t Suck.
Which is great advice for anyone trying anything except that by nature, when you play up against kids or people or things better than you, you might.
Suck.
Until you don’t.
No, my advice is ellicited from chirping.
Chirping is that thing they do in hockey that you may never have heard of or heard them say unless you catch a hot mic program.
We used to call it talking crap, only we used another word.
In other sports, it’s called trash talk.
They don’t do it much in baseball, not player to player.
Parents do it, from behind the fence.
“He doesn’t want to hit.”
“He’s scared of you.”
I’ve heard more.
Real effective when so many contracts, scholarships and more are on the line in twelve year old baseball coached and staffed by volunteers.
My advice to parents would be to cheer your boy (or girl) and say nothing about the other team’s players.
But I want 10 to chirp.
Like the catcher in sandlot.
“Hey Catch, is that your mom in the stands? She looks hot.”
“Is your sister here today?”
“Tell him to send me a fastball, special delivery.”
Something, anything to get a mental edge and get in the catcher’s head.
Chirping is just trash talking with the purpose of making the other guy play different.
Angry. Distracted.
It works in life.
Ever get so mad you “Can’t think straight.”
Or walk into the kitchen to do one thing, get distracted and forget to do the original?
I mean, I’ve heard lots of people do that.
Not me though.
That doesn’t happen to me almost every single day.
Stupid distractions.
But in a game that is at least 50% in your head, wouldn’t it make sense to get the other guy discombobulated?
Before he does the same to you?
Like the pitcher singing a seventy five mile an hour fast ball straight down the middle and it smacks in the glove like a rifle crack.
Your headspace changes.
Or a slider slides right under your swing and you’re two strikes in at less than a minute at the plate.
Those things can really affect the way you play.
So I want #10 in a good headspace.
I want to remind him that we’re having fun and that this is the first of a thousand times at bat over the next few years, and hundreds this season.
I chirp through the fence in only a voice he can hear.
“Give your balls a tug.”
He’s eleven.
He cracks up with a snort and a giggle.
And goes to the plate smiling.
Because when you are doing something you love with a smile on your face, it doesn’t matter where the other guy’s head is at.
Yours is screwed on right.
Maybe that sinks in. Maybe the Pitcher sees the smile and wonders what you know.
Maybe the Catch sees the grin and thinks you’ve got an edge.
Or maybe it’s just a guy and his kid sharing a smile during the game.
Could all be not so worthwhile, the exchange.
Like a form or positive mindset chirping.
Or in a game of such small things making huge differences, a bat an inch higher catching the ball with the barrel and turning it into a line drive instead of a pop fly.
Or a ball rushing past the tip of the short stops glove and dropping to roll to left field.
Small things that add up.
In the grand scheme of themes, I think more smiles add up.
And if it takes a wisecrack or a Coke to make one, so be it.
Start with a smile today.
I hope your spring season is packed with them.
These might make you smile too.
Free gifts that won’t take up space, just in case you missed them
Plus some more authors you might like from free books I’m reading or adding to my pile:
Kiss My Assassin: A Charles Bishop Novel
Found Objects: A Paranormal Witch Urban Fantasy
Wicked Games: A Futuristic Urban Fantasy Novel (TechWitch Book 1)
I Bring the Fire Part I : Wolves (A Loki Series)
Free books to fill Your Ereader
Portal to Another World Science Fiction Fantasy & Romance group promo
Indie Space Adventure group promo
FREE Fantastic Fantasy Books February group promo
And a baseball poem just for You
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