When I get nervous, I tend to sweat a lot. I don't sweat like a fat guy at the end of Thanksgiving dinner, it doesn't pool around my lower lip or hairline, but I do get sweaty pits, palms and behind the knees (which is weird). My palms feel like they've been spit upon.
I can only imagine my children will inherit only my most unfortunate traits. So beside ears that resemble two open car doors and a case of Twizzler arms, I'm certain my kids are gonna be sweaty messes too.
What kind of parent would I be if I didn't conjure some way to turn this sweaty debit into a credit for my heirs?
I'm fully prepared to pressure each of my children into playing sports and eventually into professional sports, specifically baseball. Even if I have a half dozen little girls, they'll be the Jackie Robinson of females. I can't wait to see little Lily or Abigail blowing a 95 mph fastball past whatever steroid lads happen to be ruling the sport in a couple decades.
I've already over-publicized my intention to teach all my children how to properly throw with both arms. There are plenty of switch hitters in baseball, but not a single switch pitcher.
I plan to spawn two or three of them.
But fathering baseball's answer to the Williams' sisters doesn't stop and start with being able to toss a ball with both arms; not in the steroid era, buddy. That's where my genius for turning my debits into credits comes into play.
Sweaty palms, wet as if spit upon.
Before the 1920s, baseball pitchers were allowed to doctor the surface of baseballs by spitting, scuffing or covering parts of the ball in mud. Mechanically, the ball spins, breaks or moves in the direction of whichever side the ball was tampered due to the additional weight applied to the surface. No matter how you throw it, it's going to react in an unconventional fashion once released. This unconventional fashion is part of the reason the mudball, spitball and shineball were banned. In 1920 New York Yankee pitcher Carl Mays (pictured) spitter, which hit Cleveland Indians shortstop Ray Chapman in the head, killing him instantly.
That was the beginning of the end of the legal spitter.
The illegal spitter exists even today, but must be thrown in complete secrecy or the pitcher will be immediately thrown out of the game, fined and branded a cheater until society forgets he ever pulled the stunt in the first place.
If my kids make it to the majors, their nerves causing tiny lakes of sweat to form in their palms, no one can prove or blame them for throwing a shineball. There's nothing in the rules that say you can't be nervous and nothing in the rules that say it is illegal to unintentionally tamper with the baseball.
If my kids make it to the majors, their nerves causing tiny lakes of sweat to form in their palms, no one can prove or blame them for throwing a shineball. There's nothing in the rules that say you can't be nervous and nothing in the rules that say it is illegal to unintentionally tamper with the baseball.
How's that for a pipe dream? Some fathers want their sons or daughters to grow up happy and healthy, I want my sons or daughters to grown up switch pitching and throwing wet heat to home plate.
Eat your heart out Tiger Woods' dad.
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