Some days a bug, some days a windshield

So the Bug, my seven-year-old grandson’s, forte is probably not going to be sports. 

When I arrived at his baseball game this past weekend, he stood on the pitcher’s mound.  He was making funny faces, trying a few new dance moves, and all-around looking less than stellar out on the mound.  Not that standing in the center of the infield is significant at his age.  Coaches toss baseballs overhand to the players at bat while standing in front of the pseudo pitcher.  Still the team member on the mound has closest access to batted balls not leaving the infield, which is more than a few.  The player in that position could easily throw the ball to any other team member for an out.  Or so you would think.

As one of the hits bounced in the Bug’s vicinity, with his hand outstretched for some dance move, lo, and behold, the ball landed in his glove.  The Bug looked surprised.  “Throw it to first,” everyone shouted.

But that didn’t happen.  “I wasn’t paying attention,” he mouthed, looking shocked and surprised, pointing to the ball in his glove, and still not throwing the baseball to first.

Years ago when Cheezy played Little League, he had a similar experience.  Almost.  He tripped and fell to the ground on purpose every time a ball came to right field.  Sympathy was a sure thing.  Hero status was not.  His only claim to fame — one time when he fell, a descending fly ball somehow landed in his mitt.

Cheezy participated (used loosely) in a variety of sports.  Football had fascinated him.  He’d jump up and down as names blared over the loudspeaker and players exploded through banners.  We never figured out why he liked the sport so much.  He wasn’t big on violence or getting tackled by his older brother.  After joining the high school football squad, he admitted, “I just wanted to run through the paper.”

The bulk he carried as a tackle didn’t mean he knew what was going on.  During the huddle, while everyone locked arms and leaned into the circle, he’d raise his head and peer around.  It reminded me of the movie where Clark Gable said, “Up periscope.” 

Remarkably one day he did score a spectacular sack.  And even more miraculously, I captured it on videotape.  Cheezy rewound the short footage over and over.  He loved to watch the quarterback spit out his mouthpiece, grunt, and fall backwards covered by number 83.

Then at length he found his niche — the couch, ESPN and the remote control.

Actually, he’s now assistant coach at a high school near his house.  Last visit, I attended one of his games.  It was such a joy to see him in his element, soccer and assisting young players.  The Bug will find his niche one day, too.

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1. Entering the world of soccer
2. Family vacation Chevy Chase style
3. The younger generation
4. Halloween on a budget
5. Chain link sports