The Tomato Nation Fall Classic: Hustle
Some of you may not care about baseball. That’s no problem, because this isn’t really about baseball.
This is about kids feeling like somebody hears them and gives a damn. Adults feeling that way too, really — that sometimes luck is the good kind, that hard work can matter.
Dreaming is not a waste of time.
Kids in the Dominican Republic, some of them play baseball using, like, a Brussels sprout and two chair legs tied together. You could argue that having to play with jenk equipment gives them an advantage when/if they get to the bigs, that once you’ve gotten used to hitting a pellet made of greasy tin foil and discarded Dentyne for extra bases, jacking a fat new white baseball into the cheap seats is cinchy. And it probably is.
You could also argue that kids shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. And they shouldn’t. Kids have a way of putting discomforts aside when they play, not noticing the things that don’t have a place in the world they’re creating for themselves. I carried my bike partway up a tree one time; kids don’t care about shoes and scratches the way we do.
But kids sense things without knowing what to call them, too, and what they sense from having to play barefoot using chopped-up furniture is that they don’t matter, and nobody cares. Why bother praying; nobody’s coming.
Horseshit. You’re coming, like the Nation tends to do. You’re bringing shoes, gently used gloves…maybe a backstop so that chunky kid, who is always the catcher from Toledo to Tokyo, can just sit there and call for a slider instead of chasing the ball all over creation between pitches.
More than that, you’re bringing an affirmation: “You-all play baseball. You have a baseball team, an official one. Everyone has a glove and a dad cap and a number. Your team is real; you are real; what you hope for and work on can become real. Second base is not a broken bottle. We don’t know what sanitary socks do exactly either, but we got you some, so you let us know when you have a minute.
We heard you.”
The uniform fund currently stands at $1,128.93. Today’s forwarded receipts could net you a Nippon-Ham Fighters item of apparel, because “Ham Fighters” is funny, and also because you deserve it. Kids need cleats. Let’s get it done.
Tags: guilt trips Nippon-Ham Fighters Tomato Nation Fall Classic
And do you ever lay down a mean guilt trip. Donation sent.
This is the tip of the guilt-berg, people. My nephew hasn’t gotten any less cute.
OMG we are so close ten grand for DC and it’s only the twelfth! We can finish that today!
I was ok until “Why bother praying; nobody’s coming.”, now my eyes are tearing up. I have to wait for payday on Friday but I will be sending money.
10K! Donors Choose half the of the drive is done! Way to go, Nation.
Now there’s a few people who would like to go to college with some Jackie Robinson Foundation grants. Would you mind helping out with that? I’d appreciate it.
I feel just pedantic enough to point out that Nippon Ham is the place, and Fighters is the team. But that pedantry is gonna cost me in the old paypal account — which is right and good.
Picturing battling hunks of pork is kinda fun, though.
Yes. Thus the hyphen. Fighting hams (or fighting with hams) will have to trump pedantry this once.
You guys fulfilled one of my Donors Choose projects a couple of days ago. THANK YOU for that – and my donation to the baseball side has been made.
I’ve shared this on my Facebook page; hopefully one or more of my baseball-loving friends will chip in.
Also, in the spirit of the playoffs, I’ll commit to donating $25 for every post-season game the Giants win. And yes, even though they’ve got a rough road to get there, I’ll happy pony up for all wins through the World Series.
@Grace: That’s awesome! I have your boy Cain in my pool, so I’ll throw in a buck for every K he puts up.
Anyone else?
I’ll put in a dollar for every televised Lincecum fist pump.