‘Family man’ Slouch a baseball dad

Through circumstances somewhat beyond my control, I am now a stepfather. This creates constant in-home conflict: I just want to sit on the couch; the kids want to do stuff.

Them: “Norman, can you take us to the library?”

Me: “The library? Please. I’m trying to watch TV here.”

Last week, my most recent bride, Toni – a.k.a. She Could Be The One III – asked me to take the 11-year-old, Isaiah, to baseball practice. I glared at her momentarily – I was watching the PBA Geico Classic on tape and Pete Weber was getting dusted – then realized that in order to help maintain my new family, I occasionally had to be part of it.

We drove a couple miles away, to the home field of the Mar Vista Phillies.

There were 10 kids and three coaches.

(Classrooms should have such a nice student-teacher ratio.)

There were sliding drills.

(This is of no value outside of baseball, unless you work for Halliburton or Enron.)

There were plenty of water breaks.

(If Frank Kush were dead, he’d roll over in his grave.)

It was a well-run practice, with equal parts encouragement and disparagement.

“If he’s leaning over the plate like that,” one of the coaches told the pitcher, “that’s all right – scare him back.”

(So this is where it starts – pre-teen brushback pitches.)

Now, I’m not your typical Little League dad – I was checking my watch, wondering if I’d get home in time for Wizards-Blazers on NBA TV – but I was surprised by a very simple emotion that gripped me:

I wanted Isaiah to do well.

I wanted him to excel. I wanted him to be the best one out there. I kept my eyes trained on him, feeling more like a parent than I ever had before.

Unfortunately, Isaiah was the only player without a baseball cap on.

(I guess we have to think about increasing his allowance.)

They clocked the kids going from home plate to first base. Isaiah’s fastest time was 3.25 seconds. It was the best time recorded until Jesse, with a lean, athletic body, posted an eye-popping 2.94.

(I’ll admit it – I thought about taking him home.)

Then they timed the kids from home to second base. Again, Isaiah put up the number to beat, 6.69 seconds, until this supernatural Jesse, seemingly effortlessly, glided around in 6.35.

Infield practice started, with Isaiah at first base and Jesse at third base. The first grounder to Isaiah, he went Bill Buckner on me; meanwhile, Jesse looked like a young Brooks Robinson at the hot corner.

(I have to remarry more carefully next time.)

Ground ball after ground ball, Isaiah struggled.

(This doesn’t surprise me – at home, he has trouble picking up his clothes.)

“You’ve got your glove down, then you keep picking it up. Leave it down there, dude,” the coach told Isaiah after another botched grounder.

When he got his chance to bat, Isaiah looked like a hitter at the plate. But he couldn’t get any good pitches to swing at; it’s as if they were pitching around him in batting practice. I was tempted to yell, “Put the ball over the plate, you bum!” but, thankfully, my inner Buddha told me I shouldn’t be shouting at a sixth-grader who has science homework to finish.

Still, I had a growing unease and dismay at the inability of Isaiah to hold up the family name, so to speak.

I mean, I’m hoping he’s Stan the Man and instead he’s Screech.

Then, toward the end of batting practice, with Isaiah back in the field, a high foul ball came in his direction. The ball hit the top of the fence protecting the first-base bench. Isaiah got a glove on it after it caromed off the fence – but it squirted away as he stumbled – then he acrobatically and miraculously secured the ball in his mitt as his backside hit the ground.

That’s my boy.

Ask The Slouch

Q. How come every time I turn on March Madness on CBS they’re running a commercial? (Joanna Wallace; Parma, Ohio)

A. How come every time you walk into a car dealership they try to sell you a car?

Q. Why did Major League Baseball open its season in Tokyo? (Geoff Perry; Indianapolis)

A. Jose Canseco’s books haven’t been translated into Japanese yet.

Q. I’m surprised to hear Tiger Woods can be quite profane on the golf course. What gives? (Paul Fiske; Seattle)

A. If you were stuck in traffic all day long in a Buick, you’d be in a foul mood, too.

Q. Do you dress yourself? (John Callicott; Arlington, Va.)

A. No, I outsource it.

Q. Now that Bob Knight is a member of the media, how long before you pursue a career as a marriage counselor? (Dan Cantwell; Albany, N.Y.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.