They cut seven boys from the Mavericks team after the tryouts. Gosh, that's a lot! I like to think some of them (or their parents) reconsidered after being reminded how much the club team expects from you. I don't like to think of seven crushed little boys who didn't make it. I saw those kids play and I know some of them personally.
None of them, however, is my kid. I don't know that he'll be pitching, but he will definitely be playing his heart out for the Mavericks. My little boy...the one who can barely string a sentence together right now because he stutters so badly and has a big oral report looming (he seems undaunted), the one I still take for physical therapy because he walks like a ballerina, the one who's probably one of the tiniest third graders at school. He likes school, he does well, but there is nothing at all in his life that comes close to his passion for baseball. And, yeah, I've fostered that passion, but it was there without my prodding.
And that means we'll be spending Memorial Day weekend in Manteca this year...at a baseball tournament. I can't wait! (Hey, I even have a friend or two in Manteca...I hope you'll be around so we can visit!)
Congratulations, Smunch! You earned it...and I couldn't be prouder.