Yesterday was the first game for my son's Little League team. He's starting "coach-pitch" -- the next step up from T-ball -- in which the batter is pitched to by his own coach. Joseph got a hit in each of his three at-bats, scored two runs, three RBIs. Two of his hits were rockets down the left field line. In his first time up, he made it to second but didn't see the signal to hold up (the runner in front of him was holding at third) and he got tagged out. On his third at-bat the ball scooted all the way to the left field corner -- and he made it all the way around, driving in two runners. He was thrilled, and I was very proud.

I am even more pleased that he is enjoying the game. So far in his time playing sports, he has had great coaches who have done a great job of balancing learning, playing hard, and having fun.

My own Little League experience, in third grade, was no fun. The team (the Holland Hall Hawks) was no good, and I was so bad I had to play right field on a lousy team, if I got to play at all. I wanted to quit, but my folks made me stick with it, as they should have done. I remember being really hungry most games and chewing on the leather strings on my mitt. My grandmother enjoyed the games -- we were funnier than the '62 Mets. We almost won a game against Paul Revere School, a school on the northeast corner of 51st & Lewis that had no playing fields. The game was played at Heller Park, if I recall correctly. The coach promised us a soda if we won. They came back to beat us in the last inning. The experience soured me on competitive sports for a long time and had me believing I'd never be any good at sports.

Anyway, I'm glad Joseph is off to a much better start. Who knows what the future will have in store for him?