I’m feelin a tad blue today on account the Little League World Series just ended. I just love watching them little fellers cause they kids play the game I loved as a boy for all the right reasons . I don’t care where they come from, Japan, Taiwan, Mexico or God forbid, Long Island, they play my game with a passion and love that brings a lump to ole Merle’s throat. Them dumb ass Big Leaguers could learn a thing or two about the true meaning of the game and they ought to be required to watch a minimum of at least two games to smarten em up a bit. Why, it just might do em some good around contract time, although that’s probably wishful thinking on my part.
Now what really caught my eye is how them kids from the other countries act the same as kids from the ole U.S. of A. They cheer, they cry, they spit and they pick their noses just like our kids. Got me to thinking the other day that maybe we could promote something like “World Peace” by requiring all the nincompoop adults in the world to watch every last game right to the very end. What they’d see is “kids being kids” and “parents being parents” and if ya didn’t look close you wouldn’t have a clue where in the world they were from. A few of them dumb ass politicians might learn a thing or two also about good sportsmanship and God forbid, classy behavior.
I mean did ya see them kids from Taiwan after they lost the championship game to the kids from California? They wiped the snot off their noses, dried their eyes and went over in front of the nincompoop parents from California and took their hats off and bowed like young gentlemen. Pure class it was and it got me a tad choked up. California winning the whole thing just made me gag cause I was a pullin for the kids from Texas and that little rascal Wyatt Willis. What a cool name! The little bugger could hit the ball too.
Now I never did have kids on account I was always trippin the light fandango and I wasn’t good at the honey do stuff, so the Little League World Series is my “Family Time.” In the summer time there’s nothing in a boys heart that beats baseball and as a matter of fact that’s just what “BEATS” in a boy's heart, “BASEBALL!” Girls don’t ever get it, never did, never will, but at age twelve they take a big time back seat to my beloved game. There’s not a girl on Earth that feels better than having a 34 ounce Hank Aaron Louisville Slugger in your hands and there ain’t a single twelve year old, pig tailed cutie pie in the world that smells better than a well oiled Rawlins Baseball Glove and there will NEVER be anything prettier than a slow curve ball on the outside corner of the plate.
Seems like just yesterday ole Merle was a scratching at the dirt like a red headed rooster and feelin the stitches on the baseball while decidin whether to throw Dicky Peterson a curve or just plain drill him in the noggin on account I didn’t like him much. I could hear ole Cooder Fitzpatrick over behind the bench a hollerin, “Go ahead Merle, throw the little fart the bender, throw him the bender!” Boy, I sure do miss those days. It’s kind of a bitch getting old and everything. That’s why I enjoy my Little League World Series so much. Good kids, good baseball, and it takes me back for a while to a time when I could "get the ball up there in a hurry" as they’d say back then. Oh, and by the way, I threw Dicky Peterson a curve and he’s probably still got back pain to this day after whiffing on that one. Damn I’m blue, where’s my hanky?
Now what really caught my eye is how them kids from the other countries act the same as kids from the ole U.S. of A. They cheer, they cry, they spit and they pick their noses just like our kids. Got me to thinking the other day that maybe we could promote something like “World Peace” by requiring all the nincompoop adults in the world to watch every last game right to the very end. What they’d see is “kids being kids” and “parents being parents” and if ya didn’t look close you wouldn’t have a clue where in the world they were from. A few of them dumb ass politicians might learn a thing or two also about good sportsmanship and God forbid, classy behavior.
I mean did ya see them kids from Taiwan after they lost the championship game to the kids from California? They wiped the snot off their noses, dried their eyes and went over in front of the nincompoop parents from California and took their hats off and bowed like young gentlemen. Pure class it was and it got me a tad choked up. California winning the whole thing just made me gag cause I was a pullin for the kids from Texas and that little rascal Wyatt Willis. What a cool name! The little bugger could hit the ball too.
Now I never did have kids on account I was always trippin the light fandango and I wasn’t good at the honey do stuff, so the Little League World Series is my “Family Time.” In the summer time there’s nothing in a boys heart that beats baseball and as a matter of fact that’s just what “BEATS” in a boy's heart, “BASEBALL!” Girls don’t ever get it, never did, never will, but at age twelve they take a big time back seat to my beloved game. There’s not a girl on Earth that feels better than having a 34 ounce Hank Aaron Louisville Slugger in your hands and there ain’t a single twelve year old, pig tailed cutie pie in the world that smells better than a well oiled Rawlins Baseball Glove and there will NEVER be anything prettier than a slow curve ball on the outside corner of the plate.
Seems like just yesterday ole Merle was a scratching at the dirt like a red headed rooster and feelin the stitches on the baseball while decidin whether to throw Dicky Peterson a curve or just plain drill him in the noggin on account I didn’t like him much. I could hear ole Cooder Fitzpatrick over behind the bench a hollerin, “Go ahead Merle, throw the little fart the bender, throw him the bender!” Boy, I sure do miss those days. It’s kind of a bitch getting old and everything. That’s why I enjoy my Little League World Series so much. Good kids, good baseball, and it takes me back for a while to a time when I could "get the ball up there in a hurry" as they’d say back then. Oh, and by the way, I threw Dicky Peterson a curve and he’s probably still got back pain to this day after whiffing on that one. Damn I’m blue, where’s my hanky?
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