IV
Yesterday, my son was so excited for baseball. As soon as he woke up, he wanted to read If You Give a Dog a Donut (the dog plays baseball and hits a homerun). He put on his 2015 World Series t-shirt. He played baseball more than he had on any day during the offseason.
By the way, sooner or later Mommy is going to stop Daddy from allowing this to happen. He’s starting to hit some real line drives and he hit me in the shoulder yesterday. I’m not too proud to admit it stung a little.
Before the game started, my wife and I agreed he could stay up a little later to watch some of the game. We got in front of the TV to watch the game. To make it fun, we sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” while he was on his piano while we were waiting for the game to start. And we waited, and we waited, and we waited . . . .
We waited 40 minutes before first pitch. We were past his bedtime before the game even started.
Even though I knew I was going to pay for it, I let him stay up a little longer than intended. He curled up next to me on the couch, and I was able to describe to him more in detail what was happening. I had to explain AGAIN that no, we cannot throw our toys, but yes, we can throw a baseball.
We waited until his new favorite player, Michael Conforto, came to bat. He didn’t disappoint by getting on base with a walk. After that, it was off to bed. My son got to watch one and a half innings. Note, he did sneak into the bedroom later to watch some more of the game. He fell asleep watching the game with me. Even with a frustrating 4-3 loss, I have to say it wasn’t all bad.
My son still loves baseball. He still wants to watch games with me. Now, that the games are moving to SNY and away from ESPN, he might actually get to watch some of it.
I know it’s called the “Terrible Twos,” but it’s also a fun age where your kid has an active imagination. It especially comes out at bedtime when they don’t want to go to sleep.
Tonight, my son told me the story of the Easter Tiger. He’s apparently orange and black and hops like a bunny.
The Easter Tiger comes out after everyone else. You see Santa Claus first comes at Christmas, says “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and then he delivers Christmas gifts. After you’re done playing with your new toys it’s Easter. The Easter Bunny comes first. He hops along to put Easter Eggs in everyone’s Easter baskets. It’s very important to remember that, “the Easter Bunny works alone.”
After the Easter Bunny comes along, the Easter Tiger arrives. He hops along looking for Easter Eggs. If an Easter Egg is not in a basket, he eats the Easter Egg with a fork. After he’s done eating the extra Easter Eggs, Easter is over.
These are the wonderful, sweet things that only a two year old can think of as he’s trying to not fall asleep. It’s a wonderful age.
Last year, there was a surprise winner in the NCAA pool. It was my one year old son.
That’s right. Last year, I had a one year old fill out the brackets. I had him pick each and every game. Even better, he best everyone. His bracket was strengthened by him picking Duke to win it all last year. Here’s how I did it.
I went online and printed the logos for each of the 68 teams in the NCAA tournament. I made sure each logo was if equal size. I then printed them out, in color, and I put them in front of him. I always put the higher seed on top because that is how it appears in the bracket. I then asked him to pick one.
So, I did this starting on Monday and ending Wednesday evening. If he wasn’t interested, I moved in to something else. If he was, I went through as many as I possibly could.
So, in the end, he picked Duke, and he won the pool. Like in everything else he does, he showed why he’s smarter than Daddy He showed he’s a genius. I’m hoping he can repeat this performance each and every year. If he does it enough times, he can pay for his own college with his winnings.
Saturday was a beautiful Spring Day. Perfect day for a St. Paddy’s Day Parade. It was great seeing my little leprechaun enjoy the festivities.
His favorite parts were the Irish Stepdancers and the drummers accompanying the bagpipers. He asked Mommy for two lollipops so he could play the drums (on Daddy’s shirt) whenever the drummers came by. It was a near perfect day.
When the cart with the guy selling souvenirs came by I stopped to see if I could get my son something. That’s when he was nearly blinded by one if these types of geniuses:
Parade tip: Bring home your beer cup from Spring Training. A coffee top from 7-11 fits perfectly. ? pic.twitter.com/oRqKzdkUkY
— The 7 Line (@The7Line) March 13, 2016
Terrific.
Look, I know it’s a St. Paddy’s Day Parade, which means there’s going to be a segment of people intoxicated. However, I also thought all parades had family areas and drunken fool areas. The two should not meet. Well, they did on Saturday.
As my son was looking at toys he wanted, a drunk [expletive deleted] reached around him and pulls a mini-flag that has one of those pointy tops. Had I not turned my son at the last second the flag tip would’ve hit his eye instead of his cheek. One thing I soon discovered was how fast someone can go from the ground to running away screaming how crazy someone is.
I’m not going to argue that you can’t drink at a parade. It happens. However, every parade I’ve been at has been seen segmented. Families go here. Drinkers go there. Problems arise whena drunk fool stumbles into a family area ruining the experience for families, and in some instances hurting kids (leading to your own injuries).
Fast forward to Sunday morning. We went to an Easter Egg Hunt.
Every Easter Egg Hunt features “special eggs” that can be exchanged for bigger prizes. They are always limited. The rule is always one “special egg” per child. Of course, this really is an invitation for parents to be on their worst behavior.
First, they act like George Costanza pushing by women and children to get in front of everyone:
Then, they collect four or five or more. Fortunately, I don’t care about them right now. I just enjoy watching my kid collect the eggs. The toys they give for finding a “special egg” are too old for him. He just likes picking up the eggs and finding out what’s inside. He doesn’t care about the special eggs. As such, we just go to safer relatively empty area to collect the eggs.
However, in the future, I know no one abides by the rules and do not care if they push over a child (not an exaggeration). I’ll just have to be smarter to give my son a fair shot at getting the “special egg.”
This past weekend I really did see the worst in adult behavior in children’s venues. They really know how to ruin the fun for everyone. Fortunately, despite all the tomfoolery, my son has fun. At the end of the day, that’s what is most important.
When you take your child to the ballpark, you have one overriding goal, and that is to keep your child safe.
Keeping your child safe starts with your choice of seats. By their nature, kids have short attention spans. With the proliferation of smartphones, they’re even shorter. With balls and bats flying into the stands, you put your child in danger if you sit too close to the field:
I don’t blame an excited kid for sending his mom photos from the game. I blame his father for getting seats way too close to the field.
Despite what some people have to say, this is an important issue. Just because some reporters or official scorers do not pay attention to every pitch, it doesn’t mean other fans don’t. I know I do . . . except when I’m at a game with my son.
When I’m at a game with my son, I’m constantly distracted. I’m getting him something to eat or drink. I’m going to the FanFest area. I’m describing to him what is going on during the game. He wants to know when Mr. Met is coming. He wants me to pick something up off the floor. He’s showing off how he can use the cup holders. He wants to give me a high five. He wants a hug. He wants a homerun. Basically, he wants attention.
My eyes are away from the action more than I would like. Do you know where I sit with him? NOWHERE NEAR AN AREA WHERE A BALL OR BAT CAN HIT US! That’s my responsibility as a parent. I probably won’t sit close enough to get near a foul ball until my son is older and can catch a flyball with his own mitt – and perhaps not even then.
So no, I don’t blame the kid for being a kid. I blame the Dad for sitting in an area where his son could get hurt. He’s just fortunate his quick reflexes saved his son from his poor decision making.
In honor of Dr. Seuss’ birthday, here is my adapted Mets Dr. Seuss story to read with your little Mets fan.
“One Strike, Two Strikes, Three Strikes, You’re Out”
One Strike. Two Strikes. Three Strikes. You’re out.
Yes. Some are curves. And some are fast. Some are slow. Some are from Matz.
Some are from Jake. With strikes batters take. Even if these are batters that rake. Why do batters who rake take pitches from Jake? I do not know. Maybe the pitch did break.
Some pitchers are thin. Colon is fat. The fat one can pounce off the mound with the agility of a cat.
From here to there, from here to there, strikeouts are everywhere.
Some strikes bring heat. The heat is neat and sends batters to their seat.
Oh me! Oh my! Oh me! Oh my! What a lot of strikes go by.
Some are two seamers. Some are four. Some are just mean and batters want no more.
How do they do it? I cannot say. But I bet the pitchers trained very hard along the way.
We see the pitches come. We see the pitches go. Some are fast. And some are slow. Some are high. And some are low. Not one of them is like another. Don’t ask us why. Go ask your mother.
Say! Look at the strikeouts? One, two, three . . . . How many strikeouts do I see? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. The pitcher has eleven. Eleven! That’s nothing new. The next pitcher will do it too!
Swing! Swing! Swing! You ever see such a thing? Not one swing hit anything. But we know the pitchers have the ball on the string. The string makes the ball do anything. So . . . if you like to Swing! Swing! at anything just swing at the ball on a string and the strikeouts will sting.
Who am I? My name is Thor. When I strike someone out. I want more. It is so good. It is so right. The batters strike out all day and night. And when I strike them out, Oh Dear! The batters have had it up to here!
We like the strikes. We like them in threes. Each strike sets up a hitter, you see. We like the strikes and this is why: the strikes makes outs and batters go bye-bye.
Hello there, Zack. How do you do? Tell me, tell how do you plan your attack? How did you do that? Was the pitch new? Please tell me Zack. I do not like this batter at all. A lot of strikes the umpire did call. A National, a Phillie, a Marlin, a Brave. Oh! He’s out! The strikeout was my fave!
Oh dear! Oh dear! The batter is in fear. How does the pitcher throw that sphere? Why did the crowd just cheer? It seems another strike out is near. Say look! The ball did reappear. But he is out. So you can cheer. Again, cheer for the strikeouts my dear.
The batter is old. The batter is cold. The pitcher has a pitch that is bold. The pitch is off. The batter will fold. The pitch is off. The batter did fold. The pitcher’s pitch was bold. The batter is cold. The batter is old. And now the story of the at bat has been told.
The batter took a look. His confidence is shook. On the pitch, he did look. On the pitch, he did look. It was a hook, and the confidence was shook. We saw him sit and give a look. He took a look at the hook and he shook. The hook did the deed for the pitch the batter just took. SO . . . what good is a look at the hook he just took?
The batters were out, and they’ll lose some sleep. But not even counting sheep will help them sleep. By the light of the moon, by light of the star, they struck out all night on pitches near and far. They would never walk. Sitting in the dugout they are.
I do not like this ump so well. All he does is yell, yell, yell. This game is turning into a route. When the Mets strike all the batters out. The batters are quiet as a mouse. All they can do now is rouse.
At our house, we have stands. Those stands are full of fans. With two strikes, the fans give the pitcher a hand. Hands from fans is very good. Have you heard a hand from fans? You should.
I like to play. How I like to play! So, if I may, I play everyday. In May, I play everyday. I play everyday in May.
It is fun to win if you win with a grin. I grin and win with pitchers who do everything. I grin wide, and the batters heads hang low, their swings were so bad, and too slow.
This batter I think will blink. His strikeout will be written in ink. He really does stink. He hates to stink, and stink, and stink. The stink makes his face turn pink. The pink from the stink is after a pitcher’s wink. The batter hates the stink, the pink, and the wink. SO . . . if you really stink, the pitcher will give you a wink, after the strikeout is written in ink.
Hop! Hop! Hop! The batter went plop. Familia likes to hop from batter flop to batter flop. Familia hops from the mound and then . . . Hop! Hop! The ball goes from the catcher to third and around. Familia likes to hop all day and night from mound to ground and ground to mound. Why does he hop, hop, hop? The rally did stop.
Shush! Shush! Shush! Shush! Groan! Groan! Groan! Groan! Pitchers have fans making hitters shush and groan. All batters who shush and groan will have better luck when they return home.
Who is this Met? Say! He doesn’t break a sweat. You may never yet met a Met, I bet, who will let a batter make him sweat.
Did you ever make a batter see red? Did you ever strike a batter out and send them to bed? Did you ever have a batter shaking his head wondering how? Well, Mets pitchers can do it. They know how. If you ever did, you should. These things are fun and fun is good.
Hello! Hello! Are you there? Hello? You’re up to bat, hello! I said hello. Can you hear me Joe? Oh no. I can not hear you at all. I did not hear your call at all. I was not paying attention; want to know why. I’m not willing to face a Mets pitcher. Good-bye!
From near to far, from here to there, the Mets are striking batters out everywhere. These young Mets are called aces. They strike out the batters each one faces. Their pitches are fast . . . so fast, they say, they strikeout batters everyday.
Who am I? I’m the Dark Knight. I throw the ball with great might. My slider has bite and the spin is real tight. When I pitch to strikeout a batter without much fight, I pitch the ball at the right height. Then I say, “You have no fight against a slider that will bite!” And I give batters great fright as they strike out all night. So . . . if your plight is my might all night, you might swing with fright at the pitches from the Dark Knight.
Our house is a place called Citi. During each game all we feel for batters is pity. Would opponents like to play against our pitchers in a game? Come down! There’s only one great pitching staff in town.
Look at we did in the park in the dark. We only win at home. A visitor’s chances of winning are stark. We will win at our house. The win totals will grow and grow. All of baseball will take notice. Our pitching prowess will you will soon know.
And now good night. It is time to sleep. Our pitchers will soon put you to sleep as the hole you’re in is too deep. Today is gone. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one. Every day, from here to there, Mets pitchers are striking out batters everywhere.
It’s March, and baseball is officially back with the first Intrasquad game. The weather has even been Spring-like since this weekend.
My family took advantage of the opportunity, and we went to the zoo on Sunday. My son loves riding the train, seeing the monkeys and other animals, and he loves feeding the goats. Speaking of goats, I reiterate the Mets may regret having a Murphy to prevent the Cubs from winning a World Series.
Aside from having a fun day with my family, there were two things I enjoyed about the visit to the zoo. As a Ranger fan, I always relish an opportunity to boo a Penguin taking a dive and looking for a call.
The other thing I enjoyed was seeing all the Mets caps out at the zoo. For the past eight plus years, whenever I went anywhere I was usually the only person with a Mets hat on. Typically, someone would come up to me and share their frustrations, or someone would tell me how I was brave being a Mets fan.
Now, as my wife pointed out, everyone was wearing a Mets cap. Taking a quick non-scientific observation, the ratio of people wearing Mets gear to the people wearing Yankees gear was about 10:1. This past Sunday was yet another example of how the Mets have taken back New York.
It’s a great time to be a Mets fan. It’s nice to see so many more people realizing it.
Last night, my son wanted to watch baseball. Fortunately, YouTube has about every game you could want to watch. For various reasons, I picked Game Three of the 2015 World Series.
What was interesting is that I never saw the telecast because I was at the game. It would not only be the first time I watched the game on TV, it would also be the first time I got to watch it with my son. From what my wife told me, he loved that game. It was great to watch it with him.
My favorite moment wasn’t him celebrating the David Wright or Curtis Granderson homeruns. It wasn’t even his the game inspired him to take out his teeball set. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even when he hit a line drive clear across the living room with him screaming “HOMERUN!” No, it was sinpler than that. It was when Lucas Duda came to bat.
My son looked up at the TV, waived and said, “Hi Duda!”
When I confirmed it was Duda by waving and saying hi to him as well, my son began saying hi to the players he remembered. At one point, I got him to scream:
I was impressed when he recognized Michael Conforto (his new favorite player) and told me he played leftfield. When I called over to my wife to let her know, her response was, “Of course he knows, you’ve been drilling it into his head.”
In any event, on what was a beautiful Spring-like day, I was never more prepared for baseball. My son is prepared too. Hopefully, he will get the chance to say, “Hi Duda” to him at Citi Field this year.
If you’re getting your child’s first haircut, yes, go to a place like Snip-its. They will give you a certificate for the first haircut along with a lock of your child’s hair. After that, never go back there again.
The next few times we went there with my son, it was a disaster. First, they put the toys they sell at the kid’s eye level. While you wait for your turn (they don’t take appointments), they keep wanting to play with the toys. To a certain extent, it’s mean to put toys right within the sight of a toddler and not let them play with them. When you finally get to your turn, the experience is less than pleasant.
For all the times we have been there, we have yet to find someone who actually listens to you when you say how you want the hair cut. Their goal is to cut the hair as quickly as possible and get to the next kid. Look, I understand. They make money with quick turnover. It just doesn’t make for the best experience.
To make matters worse, they give your child toys to play with during the haircut to help keep them quiet. Then, they have to take the toys back. Again, I understand. However, as a parent, it’s hard to take toys away from a child after they tried their best to be good and cooperate. We learned our lesson and brought him his own toys, but then we go back to the aforementioned problems in the preceding paragraph.
For this experience, you get to pay $22 plus tip. I don’t spend that much for my own haircuts.
Yesterday, we took a shot at taking him to Sport Clips. I needed my haircut as well, so my wife and I figured it was worth a shot for the two of us to try it. We figured it had to be better than another Snip-its experience. It was.
First, my son was mesmerized by the giant big screen TV playing college basketball when we entered. There was a wait, but while he was waiting, he got to watch the game. They also gave him a lollipop.
I went first while he waited with my wife. They had no problem with him coming over to take a look and talking to me.
Then it was his turn. The hairstylist talked with my wife to find out specifically how she wanted my son’s haircut. If you have children, you know by now it’s what your wife wants that matters most. The hairstylist cut his hair exactly how my wife wanted.
While the haircut was happening, my son alternated between watching the game and playing with Mater and Percy. He liked sitting in the chair like a big boy instead of being strapped in the way they do it at Snip-its. Overall, the only thing my son didn’t like was getting his hair sprayed with water:
Overall, it was a good haircut and a good experience. Furthermore, I liked the $15 price a lot better than the $22 Snip-its price. I also liked the punch card I received. After six haircuts, his next one is half-price.
On the way our the door, my son received another lollipop and was given a pencil. He said good bye to everyone. It’s difficult getting a haircut for a toddler. You’re asking them to sit still for a long time between waiting for your turn and then getting the actual haircut. Sports Clips made it a pleasant experience for my family.
With that said, if you need to get a haircut for your toddler, go to Sports Clips. It’s cheaper and a better experience.
Editor’s Note: this is not a paid advertisement. However, anytime Sports Clips, or anyone else wants to advertise, their money is welcome.
It has been less than a week, but Yoenis Cespedes has been the talk of the town again. Last year, it was because of the homeruns. This week, the buzz started when Cespedes’ rolled into camp with a Polaris Slingshot:
More shots of Cespedes's new three-wheel ride. Mets teammates even came out to see it. pic.twitter.com/29CkA5Srqf
— Andrew Beaton (@andrewlbeaton) February 23, 2016
Looking at it, it’s nothing more than a tricycle. If all it takes to be cool is to ride a tricycle and hit homeruns, my son’s got that:
On top of all of that, he just looks like one “cool guy” whatever he does:
So while, Cespedes is cool, while he’s got that swagger, he’s got nothing on my son.