TMNT

They guarded their bases with sternness and sincerity as they took their positions. They would have you believe that runners would not easily pass by —not on their watch. They had a duty and the duty was theirs.

With dignity, one little guy stood on first base. His cap was set, his uniform intact, and he manned his post with pride. Palace guards have taken their responsibilities less seriously, and he appeared to be the man for the job right up until he had to leave his post to potty.

Were it not for butterflies, jet airplanes and the fact that they were more interested in talking about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with the short-stop than tagging a guy who was stealing third, they would have been awesome.

For years, I sat at those T-ball games and watched the sand move through the hourglass, one grain at a time.

Suddenly it was my last T-ball game, then it was my last coach-pitch, fast pitch and Lord love us all, the very last time I ever had to hear a coach announce at 9:45 that it’s not too late to, and I quote, “Enjoy another inning!”

While my T-ball time has passed slowly, it did in fact pass, and for the first summer since 1993, the Clinches aren’t at the baseball fields knitting sweaters and watching our clothing go out of style.

Just the other day, little Charlie stuck a Pop Tart in the toaster and stood watch over it for what seemed to him to be an eternity.

“This has been the longest minute of my life,” he said as he peered impatiently into the toaster.

“Obviously,” I replied, “you’ve never been to a T-ball game.”