This year finds Connor old enough to play in the Majors which means two things: tryouts and draft picks. It can be a nerve-racking time for a boy and his parents who often spend the pre-season marinating in a murky bath of apprehension and unease. And while most parents fret with fingers crossed just praying their fine young son will get accepted to any team at all, I've got to confess that I have been a little more worried about a trickier baseball issue. This is because in our area, baseball players actually wear shirts and caps that endorse real major league baseball franchises. And so far Connor has been a Seattle Mariner and a San Francisco Giant. All mildly acceptable. My frank admission is that my real torment is not necessarily IF he gets onto a team but rather WHICH team he might get drafted to should he make the cut.
Foolishly, I never prepared myself for this year's outcome. Quite simply, it was inconceivable. I was in complete denial that there lurked somewhere out in the future the slightest and most loathsome possibility that my son, my very own flesh and blood, a child I've birthed and raised into a decent human being, that such a fine and honest boy would grow up (relatively speaking) and get drafted onto a Little League team that would require him to wear shirts and caps that brazenly promote a team which is the ultimate rival and arch enemy of my youth.
So when the phone call came, everyone in the house was excited to hear that Connor had made it onto a team. And me? I wanted to cut to the chase and know exactly WHAT team he had been drafted onto. That was when calamity struck. It was the mother of all horrors. He was now officially a "D" word. The-Team-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.
(to read the bizarre details of my quirky fan issues in my "Confessions of a Baseball Fan" post, click here.)
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