My dad joined the league, became a coach and immediately drafted me onto his team. Under my dad's truly skillful leadership, Rotary had the best season in the history of local Little League, going 17-1. After a 17 game winning streak, the kind that they make heartwarming TV movies about, guess who cost the team a perfect season by dropping what would have been the final out?
My dad never once mentioned my losing the game for us, which hurt me more than if he had berated me. Isn't that odd? In fact, he never mentioned my playing Little League again, although he often bragged about the 17-1 season to his friends.
As for this picture, look at my stance. Isn't it just a little bit girly? Could I look any more bored?
Also, the other kid looks all alert and ready to play with his cleats on. I look sloppy and I'm wearing Keds. But what is up with the other kid's haircut? I've got bangs too, but sheesh, he looks like Oliver from The Brady Bunch.
For some reason, at a distance of over 30 years, that makes me feel better.
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