Review of a Debut

Apparently my son is a singles hitter already, at the tender age of 22 months.

Upon my arrival at the abode this afternoon, my wife said Crazy Toddler (CT) made contact with the toy baseball about four times this afternoon. As with any highly anticipated rookie's debut, it's time for a serious breakdown.

The pitches were: A) from my wife, who's no Vida Blue (no offense, if you're reading), and B) from about 1 foot away. Considering those factors, it's basically like he was hitting against Dontrelle Willis, circa anytime in the past few years.

I also don't want to underplay the home-field advantage he enjoyed. Being familiar with the field/living room, CT absolutely knew he couldn't put one over the uncommonly deep left-field wall/couch cushions (It's 4 feet to left, 6 1/2 to straightaway center and 3 to the short porch in right.). Plus, his struggles going to the opposite field have been well-documented. So, he played it safe and poked it through the considerable holes stemming from the fact that his Mommy was the only fielder. And she's no Brooks Robinson, if you know what I mean.

Then again, you can't forget the steroids factor, either. In fairness to my lad, my wife's performance-enhancing drug history is a huge question mark. No one really knows. But I know without a doubt that CT is clean, because he gives me a urine sample every day.

Overall, what his baseball debut lacked in Stephen Strasburg-infused buzz it made up for in Bad News Bears-drenched innocence.