Friday, June 29, 2007

play ball

After a mere few innings of watching baseball played on the diamond across the street from the sports center where Mike takes Isaac swimming, Mr Baby has fallen in love with the game he calls “Dough, Bump, Nun.” (First someone doughs the ball, then someone else bumps the ball, and then you have to Nun!!!)

Several times a day he demands I pitch him his squishy orange ball or one of the whiffles that have come over the fence so he can swing himself into a vortex, then run wildly in any direction.

There is a small problem with this affinity for baseball. I am from New York and my husband is from Massachusetts. If people don't know the sincerity of the rivalry, let me tell you that I once attended a game at Yankee stadium with a woman wearing a Boston hat. The only reason we escaped without injury was that she spoke with a British accent and acted confused. On our recent flight to Boston, the flight attendant announced our flying time, the captain's name, and that any Yankee fans on board get off.

My son spent his infanthood in a Boston Red Sox onesie (a gift from my brother- and sister-in-law) with a Yankee bib over it (a gift from my sister – a Mets fan, but she acquiesced.). There is only one known picture of Isaac in the Red Sox get up and its blurry. Color me passive-aggressive.

I think I should win this tug-o-war since until recently, I've watched the Yankees faithfully for a really long time. I remember when Willie Randolph was team captain before he ever thought about standing around holding guys at third base. I know what Phil Rizzuto did before he did commercials for the Money Store. Then there's Mike who's somewhat shaky on the rules.

When Isaac tires of swinging at the air and collecting the whiffle from under the coffee table, he usually resorts to imaginary ball. Something he loved before he ever knew of a bat to bump it with. Imaginary balls are easier to throw, easier to catch. My guy makes a click of his tongue as he swings with perfect timing and his invisible bat makes contact with the invisible ball, sending it far into the seats.

Perhaps Isaac can survive this insurmountable division in his family by suggesting invisible ball be the team we all play for. (Don't forget to click your tongue.) And then maybe we can play imaginary war with invisible bombs. It's a slippery slope, one I'm ready to find myself at the bottom of. It'd be only a matter of time before we'd all tire of that too, and ask to read books.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Having just had my first experience with the invisible ball, I must say that I am proud to know the boy who invented it. It never gets lost, is easy to hit and catch, and never breaks the front window. Isaac and I had a fabulous time throwing and catching and even pantomiming that the ball hit us on the head! (Blink, rub, smile).

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