Lessons from the old guys on the field

More than ten years ago when Chad started his DC softball career, he was on the very best teams around. Over a dozen 20-year-old guys. Young. Nimble. In peak physical condition. Took the game seriously.

But they could never get to the championship because of all the old dudes. Old people ruin everything.

I remember back then, when I used to play in the occasional co-ed Saturday game, getting so frustrated when we'd consistently lose to the same group of old folks. They were sloppy. Out of shape. They showed up five minutes before game time and it was clear their bag hadn't been opened since the previous week's game ended. It wasn't out of the question for one of them to pull a hamstring, or need to sit down because they got too hot. They were a disaster! But they were unbeatable.

It's funny how things come full circle. Last night Chad's very-old team (by DC standards) won the Arlington men's softball championship with a two-run homer in extra innings.(That's Chad in the red hat - not wearing his knee braces, I see.)

Much like all those "old" teams in the past, they shouldn't have won. They've got 15 years on some of those players. Half of them have families. Most of them don't go to the gym every day. And all of their lives are consumed by something other than Tuesday night softball.

But they've been playing together a long, long time. They know the quirks of their own team and how to work around them. They know in advance how to compensate for the guy who tends to throw too short over to first base, and how to cajole their pitcher to lift his spirits if he's having a rough game. And they see the opportunities: how to place a hit right in the middle of a hole in the outfield, or when to stretch a double into a triple because that right fielder hasn't proven to be accurate and they don't think he would be again.

Maybe this season's champions weren't the most athletic. But you can be sure they were the smartest. So they eked out a win over those 20-somethings, proof that maybe there is something to be said for this aging thing.

Funny what age, and softball, and the importance of really knowing your team can teach us sometimes.

Dance, Dance, Dance

There are some days my spirited child just exhausts the hell out of me. There are many other days that this energy and enthusiasm gives me a boost that I need to bring a smile to my face when I get frustrated or makes me push the gas pedal a little harder when I'm heading to daycare in the afternoons.

When we were back in Illinois over July 4, Jackson demonstrated his love for the King by busting a move every time my mom would turn on her Elvis tunes. (Further proof that this child is a Shragal through and through - that side of the family has had Elvis jokes going back 25 years.)

And ever since then, Jackson will walk up to a radio or an iPhone, proclaim "DANCE!" and put his hands into fists then wait for the music. Sometimes when there is no music, he'll just sway side to side singing, "Dance, Dance, Dance..." in the hopes that he can carry himself through with the thoughts in his head.

Let me preface, I have no idea where these moves come from - the spinning, the gestures, the rhythm...no idea. But, oh man, this little dude makes me laugh. As one of my good friends said, "Save that one for the wedding video."