When it comes to organized sports for my kids, I learned a long time ago that “organized” is a bit of stretch. Times and dates for games and practices are seldom provided in advance. Last minute changes are the norm with volunteer coaches maintaining real world jobs and responsibilities. And the weather in Chicago? Don’t even get me started.
I have learned to look for the last-minute emails and texts. I know that rain is not grounds for cancellation unless there is lightning. I understand that accommodating the many deviations asked of my carefully guarded and maintained dry-erase board is a necessary evil.
It is a level of flexibility wholly unnatural for anyone with a raging case of OCD. So when the tornado sirens went off Monday, I struggled with my literal translation of the rules of cancellation. Technically, there was not a single flash of light in the sky. Play ball!
This is why I don’t run Little League.
Part of my self-induced immersion therapy is allowing my sons to participate in sports that run concurrently. It is a crapshoot insofar as scheduling conflicts. Some seasons skate by without a single missed practice or game. Other seasons have left coaches scratching their heads and wondering if the Walsh family fled the state.
This spring, things have been seamless. Then the playoffs started.
While Danny’s baseball team has been on a tear, Jack’s team is schizophrenic at best. The Gamecocks regularly transform from the New York Yankees to the Bad News Bears within a single inning.
As an aside, I have been amusing myself all season screaming, “GO COCKS!” You give a mom like me that particular name to support, and you’re just asking for trouble.
In a shocking twist of events, the damn Cocks beat a very good team yesterday. But with a Father’s Day ice hockey tournament on the horizon at the EXACT SAME TIME as a potential championship game, my dry-erase board and I are in a panic. I know which event Jack would have to attend, but I don’t want to make that decision. I want that decision made for me.
Essentially, I want the Cocks to lose the next round.
I am so ashamed.
Thursday afternoon decides everything. The Cocks might even face my older son’s team, the Bulldogs. A battle of the brothers. Jack could end up pitching to Danny. Danny could beam one at his brother’s head.
Why they don’t serve liquor at Little League is beyond me.
I know I am anxious. I know I did this to myself. I know I am still going to be cheering on the Cocks like a crazy person. Because at the end of the day?
Holy crap, this is fun.
Now play ball!
