A Mad Dawg turns seven

2007 will go down in the books as the year I became a tee-ball watching mother. Before this summer, I knew nothing about the game except that smallish kids swung at a ball perched on a pedestal of sorts. I never knew it's one of the best-kept secrets on the planet… right up there with the colonel’s recipe and Salma Hayek’s breast surgeon. For anyone who doesn't already know this, allow me to let the cat out of the bag: Tee-ball is CONSUMMATE entertainment.

What I have learned about tee-ball:

• That someone still stands in the pitching position, even when nobody is actually "pitching." This pitcher person watches with keen interest as the batter hits a ball which will ramble past him like a wind-blown leaf. Once the ball gets past the "mound," the pitcher continues watching with keen interest, only it's no longer the ball that's catching his gaze. It's that Flight for Life helicopter flying over the field. Or maybe Grandma who's waving and chanting, "Go ‘híto! Go ‘híto! Go ‘híto!" Sometimes I think he’s just watching imaginary monkeys poke their noses and making crass jokes about the coach.

• That there's also a catcher, even if there isn't really a NEED for someone to catch pop flies and give hand signals behind the home plate. From what I can gather, this person is held responsible for twirling in circles, kicking up dust, doing Kung Fu chopping and, basically, looking fabulous while the batter beats the tee to a bloody pulp.

• That there are JEWELS of conversation in them fields...

"Coach! Coach! Cooooach!!!!" the second-baseman yells.

"Yeah, Bud," Coach says as he walks briskly toward second base with his trusty clipboard in hand.

"Coach! Guess what!!"

At this point, Coach quits walking and stares with weary eyes. "What's the matter, Bud?"

"Coach!! I put my own socks on today!!!!!"

• That there are no outs in tee-ball.

• That every child bats before it's the opposing team's turn at the plate.

• EVERYONE makes it to home plate.

• Everyone wins, get's a high-five and a "YAHOOEEE!!" at the end of the day, too.

Why can't we ALL just play tee-ball, I ask you.

Yesterday was Jonah's team THE MAD DAWGS' last game. It was also his birthday. Talk about a bittersweet day. Because now he has to wait a whole 'nother year to wear his glove on his head while playing air guitar out in left field as the opposing team swarms into a mass, knocking him over due to the panicked butterfly heading in his direction. On the other hand, he ended the season with some new Pokemón cards and a birthday dinner complete with a chocolate shake that was HALF his size. Once the Chili's wait staff sang him their version of "Happy Birthday" Jonah turned to me and said that, while he was sad tee-ball was over for the year, it was ACSHULLY the best day EVUH.... right after he told me how COLD it was in the restaurant and that it was so very clever of them to name the place "Chilly's."

It's a hard life being a tee-baller, what with all the dust and distractions, all the daydreaming and dancing to do. I'd give my left pinky finger if only he could be one for EVUH.