Playing Baseball

"People ask me what I do in the winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring." - Rogers Hornsby



Baseball season may still be a few months away, but somehow, America's Pastime still saturates my mind. I find myself scouring Cubs news sites to see if they signed another bat for the outfield. I intently read articles and skim box scores for teams I have never heard of before, checking the progress of Cubs prospects as though performance in a Dominican Winter League will equate into instant Major League success. I monitor the prices of jerseys and baseball cards on Ebay, though I am in the market for neither.

Obsessive as I may be, I have thus far found it difficult to pass my passion for baseball on to the kids. Micah is more interested in chewing on his burp rag than learning how to throw a split finger fastball; and Malorie seems to like hearing me sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for the one millionth time more than she likes my rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

Maybe they'll enjoy baseball more once the games begin again. In the meantime, I have found a way to teach my son one of the finer intricacies of the game. A primary qualification for becoming a baseball player, coach or fan is being able to argue with an umpire. In the tradition of Cubs manager "Sweet" Lou Piniella, who earned his sardonic nickname in part for his volatile relationship with the men in blue, I have been teaching Micah to argue calls with me brow to brow. At least it beats singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" again or gazing forlornly out the window for the next few months like poor Rogers.