Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and HGH

Ahhhh, the aroma of recently excised turf- two crisp white lines laid as boundaries- 3 square bags and one odd plate measured to exactness- the unbridled crowd roaring its approval as spheres fly and wood cracks- Nothing quite compares to the boys of summer expertly plying their baseball trade for thousands of fans. Too bad all I get to watch is a bunch of 5 year olds playing baseball- I mean T-ball, I mean boys in newly washed uniforms rolling in dirt while their mothers laugh and their fathers disavow paternity.

Tonight the family witnessed the fourth and latest game installments of the Hendersonville, TN 5 and under T-ball League, better known as “can any five year old keep from going to the bathroom for one stinking hour while we try and play a game here?” This installment proved to be the best for my son’s team “Thunder” so far this season with only three player trips to the restroom during our time in the field. Thunder also made three put outs, -not in the same inning mind you, but three outs nonetheless. My son Gibson experienced a breakthrough proving that it was indeed possible for him to go fifteen minutes without crying or calling his older sister a “poopy dumb-pants.” I wonder what Babe Ruth called his sister when he was five years old? But I digress.

Watching this and Thunder’s three previous games has been somewhat an exercise in futility. What had started with so much hope for me has definitely turned into a struggle. Because I had played in the backyard with my son since he was two years old, I was sure he would be a player extraordinaire. But it seems I was slightly mistaken. He does alright, but doesn’t really stand out in his performances. So I have a new plan.

Instead of spending my time personally working with my son and teaching him the fundamentals, I am investing in a personal trainer for him. The trainer I have lined up has assured me that with some strength training each day and a good dose of Human Growth Hormone that Gibson will be bench-pressing 250 pounds by age 10. Sure there are a few minor side effects, but I am quite positive Gibson won’t mind and his future career is worth the risk. He doesn’t want to be a rocket scientist anyway, so what are a few brain cells. And I sure know he won’t care to have children when he gets older. He can’t stand kids. Besides, not everyone has adverse effects. He isn’t too fond of needles though, so I’ll have to figure some way around that one. I can’t wait to see the results. If it works for him, I’ll try it to see if I can get rid of this spare tire around my gut. Wish us luck!