last night…

after a few minutes of disarming small talk about vacation plans and bio-diesel, my pcp stuck his finger up my ass, “massaged my prostate” (his words, not mine) and wrote me a prescription.

a few hours later, after three solid innings of 0-0 ball, peabody took a couple of walks, capitalized on two errors and beat our asses 2-0.

as a result, i am sore. the end.

well surprise, surprise




espn.com is reporting that after seven months of cynical maneuvers for more cash, roger clemens has decided to ignore the final wishes of his dearly departed ma by returning to the houston astros. now that the rocket is finally set for re-entry, and the endless rumors and speculation about his plans have ceased, i would like to share my hopes for his season:

i hope that roger blows his rotator cuff, rolls his pickup truck and witnesses the death of his dearly beloved dog. i would also wish that he would lose a climactic, late season game to the cardinals, but it seems silly to waste a wish on that which is certain.

musing

i once believed that the whole of spiritual formation was summarized in that sing-song phrase “read your Bible, pray every day and you’ll grow, grow, grow.”

then i learned a little about the classic spiritual disciplines of the Christian life from a quirky quaker and my understanding of formation expanded as i learned to meditate, journal, celebrate and fast for the good of my soul and the glory of God (ok, i’ve never been any good at fasting, but every hitter has a whole in his swing).

now, i’m slowly beginning to realize, in a halting manner that readily betrays my discipleship disabled ass, that every experience, relationship and moment provides an opportunity for formation. take baseball, for instance.

although we are only three games into the season, i have already seen how fear still tempts me to duck away instead of leaning into life. i committed a couple of egregious sins of commission (i.e., mistakenly giving my slow-footed catcher the green light to steal second with one out) and omission (failing to contest a judgment call and so encouraging my players to buck up to the blues themselves) last night from the third base coaching box and as a result i am, quite frankly, afraid of calling the shots again tonight. my failure to act led my players to ignore my leadership on the bases (to our peril), question my passivity in the dugout and lose their focus on the game. as a result, i had difficulty sleeping, i’ve felt like obliterating my jitters by punching a fucking wall all day and i would rather not suit up and show up to twi field tonight.

but i know that capitulating to my fears would not only harm my reinforce my tendency to duck, dive, dodge and duck from whatever life hurls at me, but could also ruin my relationships with my players and feed the insecurities that try to keep me captive. so i’m choosing to lean in to this experience and see what i can make of both this season, and subsequently, my life.

i wouldn’t say that i’m overwhelmingly optimistic about tonight’s game, but i still believe that even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes.

brew crew banter

last night anthony bonosaro, or bonar for short, led us to our first victory of the season. bonar through seven complete innings of one run ball, was 2 for 3 at the plate and brought what appeared to be the entire cast of porky’s VI along to cheer us to victory.

other highlights included:

the thwacking of two ground rule doubles, one by justin negrotti and one by pete i’talien, our short stop (the latter hit may or may not have been more valuable if i had not put the hit-and-run on the pitch before)

the other anthony, our eighteen year old left fielder, getting rung up on a bull-shit check swing call by the fattest umpire since eric gregg (i might have gotten into a rather heated “conversation” with the umpire about the validity of this call)

rooney, pope and I celebrating our victory with free bratwursts, german potato salad and sangrias at our neighbor’s bbq

pope steadfastly refusing – for the most part anyway - his inclination to fraternize during the game

tonight and tomorrow night we have two huge games against swampscott and peabody. wish us luck!

btw – applications for 2006 ball bitch are still available. let me know if you’re interested.

all aboard

when i was a kid, i often loathed calling grand central station home. at our house the phone rang constantly, family and friends came and went constantly and nine months out of the year the front door was wide open, inviting people to look, lean and live into our lives. although generally hospitable to our guests and usually courteous on the phone, i was often sequestered in my room where i sought silence and snapped at interruptions.

fueled by adolescent angst i often hated the non-stop energy of that place and swore i would live differently. i swore i would live differently.

but here i sit, in my own house, following old patterns by (presumably) seeking silence in my room. the phone has yet to ring, but no less than five people have been in and out of the house in the last hour, one friend is in the process of moving out of our front room so that another can move in, kellie and becky are clanging around in the kitchen, cade and alex are talking over the french open in the living room and the front door is open. the front door is open.

feel free to look, lean and live into our life. i’ve freely set aside my angst and have accepted my role as a supervisor of grand central station east. make no mistake, i still want my silence, but i hope this is a place where strangers are welcome, friends become family and faith finds feet.