Red Stitching

Tonight as I watch the boys from the Triple A team take the field, I see easy, fluid movements: throwing, catching, hitting. The ease of the glove, the knowledge of what to do with the ball when it comes to them. The movement to back up another position, to play a hitter deep, to watch for the bunt. Movements so easy now because they have been practiced and executed thousands of times before, movements that now seem second nature to each man on the field.

Maybe it began with that first game of catch in the backyard. Maybe it began with the smell of the leather glove or the feel of the white cowhide ball, with that bright red stitching. But somewhere it began. The love of baseball.

Pitching and catching with dad became playing on a Little League team: uniforms, bats, cleats and snowcones after the game. Some boys enjoyed the days of Little League and left it at that, but those deeply in love with the game couldn't let it stop there.

The games once or twice a week became weekend tournaments played in cities far from home. The games became try-outs for the high school team, the practices, the games, the playoffs and maybe even the sweetness of a championship. There may have been interest from the big leagues even then -- but maybe it came later as they played college ball. Scouts in the stands, letters of interest from an organization. Where would it lead?

Now, tonight, as they take the field under the lights in this ballpark that is their current home, they do again the things that they know best. And maybe with tonight's game the door may open to that which they have been dreaming of since that first day of wearing the glove and throwing the ball -- the chance to show to everyone what they have learned so well and loved so much.

Wooly Mammoth on the Grill

As Father's Day rolls around again, the discussion comes to food and I announce that I will grill. Now, on Mother's Day, the goal is to keep mom out of the kitchen -- to keep her from any type of food preparation at all, actually. But, on Father's Day the same does not hold true.

I discussed my intended menu with my wife and she (lovingly) suggests that I don't even need to grill the meat in question, I could cook it in the oven.

Wait a minute! In the oven? It is important for everyone to understand why men choose to cook outdoors on the grill.

Way back when our ancestors were barely surviving, the men would spend the day hunting the food that was essential to the very survival of the clan. They would track beasts all day, plan the perfect attack and then spring into action -- the poor beast was no match for their prowess and their pointed spears.

Now, with supermarkets and butcher shops, what is the modern day man to do? Most men don't spend the day with other guys patiently tracking down the "kill of the day" and grunting with pleasure when it is brought down and divided for all to share. Today, we walk into the market, look at what is ready to cook, pay for it and take it home to put on the grill.

But, it is in that act of starting the fire (alas, the ignition of the propane!) and the sizzling of the meat on the grill, that we feel again, in a small way, that we have provided for the clan. That the children will not go hungry, that our wife will look at us with pride and brag to the other wives about her husband's latest "kill" that was prepared for the family.

Yes, as the smoke rises from the grill, deep inside of me, I feel as if I have survived another harrowing day in this world and we will go to bed with full stomachs and a feeling of contentment in all that has come our way.