I love baseball. However, baseball can be a difficult sport to watch your kids play.  Why?  Because, duh, it is so stinking slow!  As you sit in the stands, it can be like slowly ripping-off-your-fingernails type torture anticipating how your kid will hit, field, pitch, catch, throw etc.  When games are fast paced, such as soccer or basketball, my ability to follow and efficiently understand what is going on takes an extended vacation. Thus, the torture-fest factor is severely reduced. In fact, I am thoroughly convinced if the speed of a kid’s baseball game could be increased oh, say tenfold, all my problems would be solved (Take us to warp speed, Scotty!).

Every season when I can no longer take the gut wrenching apprehension, I call the one person I can count on to tell me I am being ridiculous, my Dad.  I mean really, who better to tell you how stupid you are being and give advice than Dad – it’s in the job description, right there along with “remind kids to get their car oil changed”.

After many a baseball season, my Dad is ready when my yearly call arrives.  His effective responses usually go something like this:  “It’s just a game”, “calm down”, “you worry too much”, “Baseball is full of ups and downs”, “Baseball is slow” (got that one figured out) “Keep saying to yourself ‘Relax and Enjoy’”.

“Got it, Ok Dad, I’ll try”, I answer.

Relax and Enjoy.

I repeated this phrase as I drove to my son’s baseball game that very night.

Relax and Enjoy.

At the game, in the stands, I chanted it repetitively (to myself, of course, so no one near me would think I had finally gone all bag lady or something).

Relax and Enjoy.

The game was a close.

Relax and Enjoy.

My son’s team began to slip behind.

Relax and Enjoy.

My son struggled at bat.

Relax and Enjoy.

Then, my new found meditative repose was challenged when a particularly, shall we say “prolific”, opposing team Dad began to bellow, in as loud a voice as you can possibly imagine (think Quidditch announcer in Harry Potter),

“PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE”

Over and over and yep, over again.

“PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

In fairness, parents of both teams were cringing and pretending he was some stranger who just happened to stop by on his way to catch the Crazy Train.

“PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

My stress level began to rise. I could just feel the belly fat taking hold (for clarification on that, Go here). My mind began to race…

Could anyone possibly have a straight jacket in their car, handy for just such a situation?

“PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

Muzzle?

PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

Tranquilizer gun? (Honestly, where I live I might have had luck with this one!)

PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

Moms unite – I think we can take him!

“PARTY AT HOME PLATE BOYS, PARTY AT HOME PLATE!!”

And then in a shining moment, my son, like a little lightning-fast,  blond headed Yadier Molina, tagged out a runner trying to “join the party”, making the final out of the inning.

I turned to fellow team parents next to me.

“Party Cancelled”, I mumbled.

They laughed, and I laughed.  In fact, it still makes me laugh thinking about it.

My son’s team didn’t win the game. But it was ok.

And even though I am not giving up hope on the whole Warp Speed idea (where is Scotty when you need him?), I think I will survive if I can just remember to – Relax and Enjoy, and of course, Laugh.