Ladies and gentlemen – it’s October baseball! The muppets took the (preschool) field presently umpired by the three-year-old class teacher in full Buster Posey regalia (and orange
As a born and bred Bleed Blue Dodger fan, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about such impressionable young minds being perverted with San Francisco Giants adulation, but – I can’t deny the excitement in the air from hometown playoffs or the appreciation for good baseball.
We hopped in the car (wrestled muppets into carseats while attempting to convince small peoples that it’s mommy’s turn to drive and their turn will be in another decade and a half or so) and punched the radio for the KNBR play-by-play. There really is something intoxicating about the din of the crowd buzzing behind the announcers on static-y AM radio. (Albeit Vin Scully these dudes were not.)
Remember that previous comment about good baseball?
The Yankees got swept in the 2012 ALCS. (Normally I don’t like playoff sweeps because COME ON, but I hate the Yankees, so this made me happy.) The Giants squad apparently all went to watch the 49er football game, because they certainly didn’t show up to compete against St. Louis tonight.
Turns out, this was no problem as the muppets have fully embraced baby baseball. Balloons and spoons for balls and bats. And the living room hallway for 90-foot base paths.
Pretend you’re listening to the radio:
Destroy toddles away from third to try and distract Dad, faking a potential steal of home. And the first toss of the balloon taken by Search at the knees for a strike. Regular habit of Dad it seems – when a kiddo’s on base. Next pitch grounded by Search to the third base (couch-residing) side. Mom bats the pink balloon back across the room– in time, retiring Search by half a toddle.
High five and a kiss from the muppet!
Dad’s really trying to find himself in this game. Here’s his pitch. And THAT is an outside fastball at the knees for a called strike. That one did not run off the outside corner. It’s a pitcher’s strike; a low strike right on the edge. But Search, a left-handed hitter with power is up – opened up stance, feet wide apart. The pitch to him. High fastball. TAKEN, as Search stares at the black balloon float by. 1 ball and 1 strike.
Destroy runs over to retrieve the balloon. Search licks his spoon.
The hot zone for Dad is down and in. The balloons batted out of the living room last night – those ones floating over the baby gate – those were cutters that dropped right down and an in knee high. It really fits his swing, or the tiny one can bat at it. So Dad’s got to stay away from that pitch.
1 and 1 pitch. It’s a change up – WAY off the outside and low. Dad looks very frustrated by that pitch. Could just be Mom laughing at him. 2 and 1 the count, now. Dad tosses to the plate. SWING and a miss.
No matter! Search is pleased with the attempt.
“HOMERUN!” he yells. Racing down the hallway, he dives over the collapsible bleacher seat before toddling back down the runway as fast as his little legs can carry him so Dad can hurl him into the air.
And we’re back on the mound. Dad comes back with a changeup, and that was a beauty – down in the zone, it’s 2 and 2. Splitter he throws for the changeup, that had some REAL strong sinking action to it. 2 and 2 pitch. Way outside and high. Back to the fastballoon and missing badly at .01 mph.
It’s a full count at 3 and 2. The powerful Destroy on deck. We’re in the second day of the same inflated balloon. This is skill here in the postseason. Search has run four homerun laps now.
Dad, in his set position, sits up on his knees. 3 and 2. Now sets again, there goes Search. Here’s the pitch – is taken high, missing. Another walk! Two muppets on!
But the parents are still holding their opponents (technically) scoreless. No earned runs in the inning – one hit, a double by Destroy, no errors and one runner left on base for the Toddlers in the top half of the second. Due up for parents in the bottom half of two: Mom and Dad at top of the order. Except if the Toddlers decide they’d rather stay on offense.
Our score after one and a half – Parents, 0 and the Toddlers, 6. But were at equal odds here. Neither team presently outnumbering the other.
“TOUCHDOWN!” screams Destory as Dad hurls him into the air. “My spoon.”
Almost. Close kid.