It was Opening Day scrimmage time for my baseball team full of 8-year-olds.  As Manager, I get to operate the pitch machine and the only real benefit of operating the pitch machine is that you get to somewhat determine the pace of play.

Our Lead Off hitter approached home plate and I knew what I had to do, sure it would delay the game for a few seconds, but it was for the sake of tradition.  I jogged to meet the hitter at home plate and asked him to hand me his bat.  Placing the bat in my hand, I pretended to lean over sideways from the weight.  “That bat is full of hits,” I said.  The boy smiled and almost simultaneously I heard a groan from behind home plate.

There on the bleachers is my long suffering wife, who has heard my joke countless times.  Trust me, after hearing it for the thousandth time, I’m sure that it does grow old.  In this case however, it was so appropriate.  It was Opening Day.  The sun was shining.  I controlled the pitch machine and the kid was fresh to the team.  The old joke was new to him and somehow that made everything right.  Now (finally), it was time to play ball!