Thursday, July 10
Whiffleball
Is it nearly mid-July already? Sheeesh.
This story reminds me of my teen-aged years, when I spent a LOT of time playing Whiffleball in a variety of neighbor's front and yards. Each of us had our own stadium or field -- sometimes two different parks -- some with gray monsters ala Fenway, some with short porches. I mostly faced off against one of my best friends, Shaw, a crafty lefty who threw all kinds of slow junk. I didn't get many hits, but when I did, was I was known to hit it over a roof or two. On the mound, I was the fire-balling righty; he singled and tripled me into oblivion most days. Only in our field of dreams, the lawyers didn't show up.
This story reminds me of my teen-aged years, when I spent a LOT of time playing Whiffleball in a variety of neighbor's front and yards. Each of us had our own stadium or field -- sometimes two different parks -- some with gray monsters ala Fenway, some with short porches. I mostly faced off against one of my best friends, Shaw, a crafty lefty who threw all kinds of slow junk. I didn't get many hits, but when I did, was I was known to hit it over a roof or two. On the mound, I was the fire-balling righty; he singled and tripled me into oblivion most days. Only in our field of dreams, the lawyers didn't show up.
