The Kid and The Disappearing Bat

By | June 20, 2011

The sky is spitting tiny rain drops on us as we parade the street towards the field where the baseball closing day ceremonies will take place shortly. A kid is screaming, he hates rain. Others jump in puddles as they walk by and the bystanders cheer as the little kiddies make their way to the field. Rain subsides by the time we’re singing “Take me out to the ball game” for the last time this season. Afterwards we walk to the small diamond off the playground for the last game of blastball. What’s blastball you ask? A very early version of baseball where kids age three to five wearing oversized shirts looking awfully cute line up and step up to bat one after another and then they run to a jump on a soft base that goes “squeak”. Two teams faces each other but no one wins. No, seriously. Batting, go in the field and try to catch the ball, repeat two more times and then you’re done.

One of the kids in the other team tries to hit the ball and it doesn’t work as planned. He tries again. Nope, it ain’t working. So the kid takes the matter into his own little hands, literally, and hits the ground with the bat. One, two, three times, harder each time, and the fourth brings the result he’s hoping for. The bat, made of plastic wrapped in some soft material – breaks. The kid looks satisfied, and then yells towards his mother who was chatting with other adults oblivious to what happened a couple of steps from them “it was an accident!”. The coach realizes the enormity, walks over and shrugs his shoulders as he assesses the bat. It’s done for. The mom walks over too, talks to the kid and a few seconds later she turns to the other parents and laughs “it was an accident!”… A new bat is brought in and the game resumes with parents laughing as the sorry looking bat was removed from sight. So much for assuming responsibilities for one’s actions. An unfortunate accident? Hardly. I can’t help but think of the recent events that blackened the eye of our city. Rioters expressing their anger following a lost game and cup or maybe just seizing the opportunity to have some violent fun.  That’s no accident, but a scary combo that doesn’t end well. Especially when you put the bat away like it never existed…
 

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