We are not a very athletically inclined family. No, really, we aren't. I think it's safe to say that the cats are more athletic than Gareth and me. And then there's Gaby. She can run circles around anyone else. Anyone. And that's without the addition of any sugar at all! But this isn't really about my 4 year old who is naturally hopped up on life (Oh my goodness, never ever ever give this kid ANYTHING with caffeine in it. Just take my word, it's bad. REAL BAD!), what this is about, is my darling British hubby and his first time playing American softball.
That's right, he actually engaged in a sport other than that odd combination of baseball and golf that uses a spanking paddle...I think they call it "Cricket" over on the other side of the pond. Or that game, as he says, "Proper FOOTBALL" which we Yankees commonly refer to as soccer, or Rugby - which I can't watch because I'm pretty sure I hear bones crunch every time I do. But he hasn't participated in any of these sports this side of the pond. Namely because, did I mention, we aren't athletic? At all.
Gareth comes home from the office last week and says, "Hello luv, next Wednesday evening I'll be playing softball with the blokes from work!" I'm pretty sure I dropped whatever I had in my hands and went over and felt his forehead to see if he was feeling well. I asked him, "The folks at your office do know you're British, right? And maybe you ought to clue them in that as close as we get to playing any kind of sports at home are tossing wadded up socks at one another when I'm sorting the laundry!" Gareth just laughed at me and walked away while I stood there imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios. I pictured him with two black eyes from where the softball hit him repeatedly in the face, or being called in the middle of giving Gaby a bath to rush to urgent care where they were sewing him back together after some sort of freak softball accident, or worse yet, I pictured him coming home, baseball cap on backwards and spitting chewing tobacco into a little cup and taking the remote control out of my hands and switching it to ESPN so he could watch the Red Sox clobber the Yankees.
Despite my gruesome scenarios, pretty much nothing could dissuade Gareth from playing softball. There was only one thing left to do...go to the game and be there to document the carnage.
I arrived 4 innings in and my husband proudly walked up to me and with a look of glee in his eyes not unlike a kid who'd just scored a home run! He lifted the leg of his shorts and showed me his knee - like it was some gross prize he'd won in a morbid box of Cracker Jacks!
Before I could say anything, I noticed he was limping and then he told me, "Oh and one of the blokes was wearing cleats and crushed my toes!" I thought he was exagerating when he said, "...crushed my toes!" Turns out he wasn't!
I'm pretty sure that toenail is going to be history in the next several days.
Despite the obvious battle wounds, I was able to get some shots for the scrapbook I've lovingly titled, "Milestones of a Brit Living with the Yankees." Oh how I'll cherish showing our grandkids these pictures and we can all have a laugh at Grandpops expense athletic endeavors!
Gareth got to play 2nd base.
I have no clue what he's doing in this next shot. I think he's fraternizing with a runner from the other team...who actually happened to be someone from his office, but for some strange reason I thought they were playing against some of the sub-contractors and contractors from his job site. Anyhow, I didn't think you were supposed to get too chummy with the base runners because wouldn't that sort of put a kink in your desire to clobber them when they come running at you in order to score a base? And did I mention that we are not athletic....AT ALL? My comprehension of sports is limited at best. Well unless it has to do with a snowboard. But we aren't talking about snowboarding now, are we?
Here he is getting ready to take the plate...
...and he SWINGS!!!
I think it was a pop fly...or something like that. I was distracted from my husband trying to hit what looked like an overinflated tennis ball (why are some softballs green?), by such amazing cuteness and sweetness that my teeth actually hurt!
While her daddy was having the time of his life getting battered and beaten and aiming at flying green balls, Gaby was making a friend!
Harley is a Shiba Inu mix that belongs to a really nice man that Gareth works with whose name I have completely forgotten. Sometimes it's hard for me to remember silly little things like names when my husband is running around like a loon, excited about a scraped knee and some busted toes.
Gaby was oblivious to all things softball related. She and Harley became fast friends!
And this next picture is just about the sweetest thing this side of a huge cotton candy factory, except maybe even sweeter. I am totally crushing on this photo and want to run out and get a puppy for my little girl despite having three cats that are still recovering from our Goldendoodle puppy who now lives with our contractor and his three rambunctious boys, on 52 acres back in Maine. For a few minutes I managed to forget, after staring at this photo, that I um...well, errrr...I kinda hate puppies. Give me an adult dog any day of the week, but puppies? Yeah, they're cute for all of 5 minutes, tops!
Harley, the sweetest two year old you will ever meet...try and not melt after looking at this photo. Come on, I dare you!
So now I've got a 4 year old who wants to know when Harley can come over for a play date and husband, who, whilst pretty banged up, is looking forward to playing softball...again. That's all well and good Gareth, but if I so much see you spit, you're benched for the rest of the season! Oh and give me that damned remote back! I hear they lynch people 'round these parts (NY...where we live!) for admitting they like the Red Sox!
