Special Clauses in my Contract

So pitchers and catchers officially report today to spring training which means the 2010 baseball season officially begins.  There’s no better time of year.  Teams are talking about the playoffs and the players all look healthy and strong and the weather in Arizona and Florida looks warm and inviting and for the next six weeks guys get to stretch out their arms and perfect their timing and it doesn’t matter whether they win or lose their spring training games because it’s “just spring training after all.”  It’s awesome.  THIS is the time of year where I’d like to be a major league baseball player. 

Unfortunately my chances of playing pro ball ended years ago.  Ironically it ended because my dad was trying to get me ready to play pro ball.  You see my old man was a big sports guy.  Played both tennis and baseball in high school and went to college on a tennis scholarship.  The guy was an athletic stud.  So fast forward to little league baseball.  He’s got me all ready to go.  He’s been pitching tennis balls to me in the driveway for years.  And I’m crushing them.  He’s firing tennis balls at me at speeds MUCH FASTER than any 12 year old could throw and I’m hitting the ball on the screws.  I don’t mind saying that I was a pretty solid hitter back in the day.  First game of the year, and in my very first at bat I get DRILLED with the pitch.  I crumble like an accordion.  My next three at bats I bail out of the batter’s box before the pitcher even delivers the pitch.  The problem is, of course, they’re not throwing tennis balls, but hard balls.  So my dad figures this is an easy fix.  We head to Sportmart (this is a true story) and buy a dozen hard balls.  We head home, my dad gives me a bat and then he proceeds to HURL hard balls at me.  I think he hit me with four of the first six pitches he threw.  That was about it.  The end of my baseball career.  I bailed out of the batter’s box as soon as the pitcher went into his motion.  To this day I’m still scared of someone throwing a hard ball at me.  Literally I think I’d rather have someone come at me with a knife than with a hard ball. 

And what bothers me most about not making it as a big league ball player is the fact that I’m never going to have “special clauses” in my contract like so many ball players have nowadays.  You hear of guys having clauses that stipulate that they get a luxury box for their family for every home game, or they get to fly their family 1^st class to eight road games a year or they get certain jersey numbers or if you’re Roy Oswalt you get a bull dozer.  Oswalt was promised a bull dozer by Astros owner Drayton McLane if Oswalt won his NLCS game in 2005.  Oswalt dominated the Cardinals to send the Astros to their first ever World Series and Oswalt got a Caterpillar D6N XL bull dozer.

I love that kind of stuff, so much so that I actually have my list of clauses that I’d want included in my contract:

#1 – I want an unlimited number of in-room movies included when we’re on the road.  I LOVE in-room movies.  They are without question my most favorite thing about hotels.  You push a button and suddenly a new movie is on.  It’s awesome and I want to be able to watch as many of them FOR FREE as I can while on the road.  Quick story . . . went to Mexico with my wife a number of years ago and had in-room movies.  Well it turns out that the movie The Perfect Storm was somehow broken.  It would end and then start up again.  It was like it was looped.  Well I watched it eight times during the week we were there.  Had it on while we were having sex once (I turned the volume down).  Simply awesome.

#2 – Unlimited room service.  Room service is my second favorite thing about hotel rooms and I always make sure that the hotel I’m staying in has 24-hour room service.  I just like knowing that I COULD order a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk at 3:25 in the AM.  Fantastic.

#3 – I want part of my salary paid in gift cards.  I love gift cards.  All sorts of gift cards.  Blockbuster gift cards. Dick’s Sporting Goods gift cards.  iTunes gift cards.  Best Buy gift cards.  Home Depot gift cards.  And so on.  I love plastic gift cards. I love walking into a store and buying shit with a gift card.  To me it’s like one level below stealing the stuff.  I’m ALMOST getting it for free. 

#4 – I want double stuffed Oreo’s and a milk dispenser in the dugout.  I don’t care about the gum and the chewing tobacco and the Gatorade.  I want double stuffed Oreo’s and ice cold milk.  This will keep me going during the 162 game schedule.    

#5 – I will only give interviews to hot female reporters.  I’ll spend an hour talking to Erin Andrews, but if Jay Mariotti asks me a question I want it in my contract that I do NOT have to answer it.

#6 – I want private showers.  I’m not showering with a bunch of dudes.  I’m against this for a number of different reasons not the least of which is it’s not good for my self confidence. 

#7 – Fluff girls.  That’s right, fluff girls.  Hey if Oswalt got a freaking bull dozer I can get a couple of hot groupies brought into the locker room before or after games. 

 Boy if only they threw tennis balls in the majors.

Ode to Spring Kids’ Sports

As parents we do our best to encourage our kids to try different things.  From trying different foods to trying different activities to trying different sports, our job is to make sure our kids give EVERYTHING a chance.  “Try it once” is our motto which ironically will become the only motto we DON’T have for our kids as they get older.  Don’t try drag racing.  And don’t try sex.  And don’t try drugs.  And don’t try cutting class.  And don’t try home-made explosives . . . . . . wait, was that just my parents who said that?  Encouraging our kids to try different things does seem to be age-appropriate.  But since my kids are 11 and 7 I’m still very much trying to encourage them to try everything at least once, and to their credit they have pretty much taken my advice and run with it.

We’ve tried acting in school musicals.  We’ve tried ice hockey.  We’ve tried tackle football.  We’ve tried baseball.  We’ve tried platform tennis.  We’ve tried soccer.  We’ve tried overnight camp.  We’ve tried swim team.  We’ve tried baseball card collecting.  We’ve tried knee boarding.  We’ve tried water skiing.  We’ve tried downhill snow skiing.  We’ve tried golf.  We’ve tried skate boarding.  And we’ve probably tried a few other things that I’ve simply forgotten about.  Most of it has been one-hit wonders where we’ve done it for a season and then moved on (though tackle football lasted one month – Chase decided he liked FOOTBALL, but not TACKLE football – “big difference dad”), but some of it has lasted longer.  In fact as we head into the spring sport season we’re gearing up for both travel soccer for Jack and house league baseball for both Chase and Jack.  And this is right around the time that I’m starting to regret the whole “try everything” motto as it simply leads to more work and more chaos for my wife and me.

Travel soccer requires no less than two practices a week AND a “training session.”  I still don’t really know the difference between a practice and a training session, but they have both.  Then at least one game which is often times in some other town or city.  There’s both a home and away jersey and we’ve lost both already (played a home game in a black San Jose Sharks t-shirt because the home jersey was M.I.A.).  To make matters worse they have indoor practice every Monday night during the winter which means we’re carpooling either to or from practice on Monday which means I have to spend time in the car with my youngest son and his best pal Grant who came up with this last night:

Grant – Hey Jack I think we could have lived with the dinosaurs.

Jack – Really?  Where would we live?

Grant – In a fort made out of big boulders.

Jack – Well what would we eat?

Grant – Baby dinosaurs.

Jack – How would we catch them?

Grant – We would make a knife and then hunt for them.

Jack – What would we use for bait?

Grant – Girls.

Jack – Why girls?

Grant – Because girls have boobs, and dinosaurs like boobs. 

I can’t decide whether I want to volunteer to carpool to AND from soccer or never again.

Then there’s baseball.  Now I love baseball.  Played it as a kid.  Wish I were still playing it now.  Both my boys play it and no doubt as they get older and better the games are getting more and more fun for me to watch. In fact I’m going to be an assistant coach on Chase’s team this year.  Very excited.  But dear Lord it can be brutal, and I’m not even talking about the tryouts where they herd these kids into a gym and have them swing at wiffle balls thrown to them by 8^th graders who are throwing from their knees (literally I’m not sure Derek Jeter would look good swinging an aluminum baseball bat at wiffle balls that are coming across the plate about a foot off the ground – it’s painful to watch).  No I’m talking about the practices and the white baseball pants that seem to be COVERED in dirt and mud within an hour after the boys put them on.  I’ve actually decided that baseball pants are like those invisible marker pages. . . you know the ones where you have a blank page until you use the “special marker” which then reveals designs and letters and colors that weren’t there just moments before. . . . yeah that’s like baseball pants.  Totally clean one minute and then filthy the next. 

We’ve yet to finish the season with the same baseball hat that we were given to start the season.  Last year my son Jack finished his season with a Chicago Wolves hat.  My son Chase finished his season with a Chicago White Sox hat.  We have one team picture that shows Jack in a different pair of baseball socks.  THE UNIFORM, INCLUDING THE SOCKS, WERE ISSUED ON THE DAY OF THE PICTURES!!!!!  WE LOST THE SOCKS ALMOST IMMEDIATELY!!!!!  HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN!?!?!?!!?

But we will be there for every game and even most practices because we are doing our best to be encouraging and supportive parents (although not always successfully).  This means that we won’t see each other or have dinner together as a family for three months, as we split up to watch one baseball game or coach one practice (Kirsten won’t be coaching, though).  And the weather in Chicago in the Spring usually doesn’t cooperate.  So we will freeze through often painfully long games.  My wife has showed up in moon boots, parka, hat and covered herself in a blanket to make it through some of the games. 

The moral of the story . . . .  be careful what you preach.  Especially to your kids.  It  sometimes bites you in the ass.  And you have to smile while it’s biting you.