That's My Boy
Baseball was always Doug's sport. We even brought him home from the hopital dressed in little newborn clothes that looked like a baseball uniform. He was good enough that I'd kid with him and others when he had a good game by saying "that's my boy."
His baseball career ended when he was 14. He was playing football, got blind-sided and broke his collar bone. His doctor said a sliver of broken bone came close to his carotid artery and an inch or so more and it could have killed him. He had some loss of motion in his throwing shoulder and that pretty much ended his baseball playing days. We didn't care whether he ever played anything again - just so he was OK - and he was.
He's kept his interest in baseball just as I have. We follow the Astros and get together a couple of times a week to watch a game, talk strategy, discuss possible trades and plan our dream trip to Wrigley, Fenway and Yankee Stadium with Jen's husband, Scott.
We started throwing the ball around in the back yard a couple of months ago - just like we had for the last time 16 years ago. His arm strength is not bad but not as good as it could be. He started throwing a decent curve ball, a knuckle change and a four seam fastball.
Doug has a friend from college, Joe, who manages a team in an amateur league. He worked out with them one day and they invited him to play. It's good quality baseball with several former college players and I had to wonder if Doug's work-out had gone all that well or if Joe was being a little charitable. After all, he hadn't played since he was a kid.
Their first game was last Sunday afternoon and he thought he might get to play in the outfield a little. Surprise, surprise. Joe told him just before the start of the game that he was the starting pitcher.
He had a good first inning. In the second inning, he gave up a hit to a first basemen who looked like a gorilla. He struck out a batter, then started to run out of gas. He walked a batter, then another. Then he struck out another batter on a 3-2 curve ball that had the batter rocking back on his heels. What a pitch! It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and the temperature was about 97. He was worn out. He walked another batter and Joe took him out.
After the game he said "man, Dad, that was fun." It sure was, Son. It sure was.