A Letter to My Mighty Mariners

We lost a heartbreaker to the Angels, ending our playoff run.

So another season of tball is behind us.  There will be no more driving down to the field hoping for the shady side.  It is the end of 5:15 dinner before the games.  I will have to do without the unmistakeable “plink” that a metal bat makes when it hits a tee.  Ah the joys of America’s game, I will miss you.

To the Boys:

I apologize if I yelled at any of you, because I know I must have yelled “RUN” at most of you.  If I ever do, feel free to ignore me (how often does an adult okay something like that?).

You are, hands down, the greatest group of boys.  I had such a great time watching all of you play this year.  You really tried your hardest, and it showed.  It was a pleasure to be one of your fans.  Thank you for a great season and I can’t wait ’till next year.

To those of you moving on to pitch ball:  Good Luck, and we will miss you.

To those younger siblings coming up next year:  Can’t wait to see you in a Mariner’s Uniform!

To the Coaches:

Thanks again for trying to teach the O-Man and the Rookie how to play the greatest game in the world.  I know it isn’t easy, or at least, they don’t make it easy.  You helped the O-man deal with being afraid of getting hit.  You taught the Rookie how to growl at the opposing batters.

Where you find the patience to deal with the scheduling, the crying (kids and parents), the practices and the games, I’ll never know.  I admire your willingness to take on something so demanding and do it with such grace and fun.

A sincere THANK YOU.

To the Parents:

I apologize if I yelled at any of your kids.  Please know that I do it out of love, and because sometimes I lose control of the “filter” section of my brain.

Another year of gossip and carefully disguised adult beverages.  You guys make watching the slapstick on the field so much more enjoyable.  I couldn’t imagine tball without you, and hope to convince the Rookie to play again next year.

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

~Rogers Hornsby

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