Kevin is playing men’s softball this summer with the church league. Last night was his first practice. I went along for the fun. A part of me wishes it were a co-ed team and I could be out there too. The other part of me enjoys sitting in the bleachers watching all of the folly from a distance.
Only five guys showed up from Kevin’s team last night. And the supposed coach didn’t even show up. This makes me worried. I mean, the whole point should be having fun. Right? But how fun is it to lose? (Heh, heh.)
Just before Kev’s team took over the diamond to practice, one of the other teams in the league was leaving. I was startled by the contrast of the players. After practice, Kevin walked up to me and said, "I’m scared."
"You should be," I said. "Did you see the other team?"
Let me give you four little words to help you conjure up an accurate image of the other team: Big, Bad, Buff, and Budweiser. They’re the type of guys who probably eat a rack of ribs for breakfast every morning and, the rest of the day, walk around scaring little children. After watching them leave, I looked over at our little team with scrawny limbs and pale faces. Two thoughts entered my mind: 1) Survival of the fittest and 2) We are going to be eaten alive.
But, then again, I still do believe in miracles.
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