If I were a diarist, I'd barely exist

I get ten ideas a day when I think about writing. That's why I chap my own hide when I check in here and realize I've let yet another TWO FUCKING MONTHs elapse since my last entry.  That last entry consisted of me apologizing for not posting more frequently.  What a ficken' doufous!

Now it's early September, and living in Washington State USA, that means summer is over.  I realize my latest lapse was failing to journal the summer.  And a nice one it was, with plenty of uplifting and equally vexing occurences that are the stuff of a thoughtful life and hoperfully, an interesting journal.

July passed.  That means that my son's regular baseball season with his year-round club, ended with a nice tournament showing and a league playoff run. The boy grew a bit in stature and a lot in self-confidence as his team relied on him to fill at shortstop while his teammate, the starter, was down with an injury. This lead to a three week stint where he started at the position he once loved and owned before leaping from PONY to select baseball.  And he owned it yet again, opening his coaches eyes to some new flexibility in the lineup.

He also pitched for the first time since near the end of his high school season when he took leave from the mound to address some soreness in his upper arm.  More on the soreness later.  His coach had no desire to pitch him this summer, seeking to protect his young arm for later in his high school career, but was left with no options as our best guys were already spent.  The scenario was about as "high leverage" a situation as you could ask of a youth pitcher.  He actually threw really well, with a ton of velocity, but surrendured a single earned run that turned out to be the game winner.

Hopefully, you're getting the picture that this was the good stuff of a summer well-lived.  And I took it all in, but never went beyond my own thoughts to journal it.  Making me a poor specimen of a writer; a breed renowned for its poor specimens.  Sort of like being king of the dipshits.

Arbolito continued to struggle with yet another spasm of throwing-caused soreness (this being the third, each in a different part of the arm). This time, while attending his first evaluation "showcase," he made a big throw and came up hinky.  He battled the pain and showed well, but the "injury" greatly dampened the experience. I had been warned this one might not be worth attending and I've been beating myself up about going ever since that throw.

As July passed into August, we found ourselves flying to Fort Myers, Florida, my son a member of the 14U Team Northwest contingent at the Perfect Game World Series wood bat tournament.  These are highly competitive, national invitational events at which the best age-group players in the country compete.  At the right age-levels, these are events at which prospects can show-off for college recruiters and even professional scouts.

Team Northwest 14U, 2013 PG World Series

 Arbolito nursed his way through the event, protecting his arm yet playing extremely well in centerfield and, for a few innings, at shortstop once again.  Unfortunately, his worst two moments of the tournament also occured in the field at short, leading to runs that brought our nationally-ranked opponents into a 2-2 tie, and then a 3-2 loss. At the plate, the boy swung the bat well, although a somewhat picky approach that lead to 8 walks, several stolen bases and runs scored, also lead to 3 strikeouts looking, a hitter's most detested outcome.

A sports parent always wants chances for their little competitor to shine, and hopes against lapses.  But the chance to travel with my son made this nine days special no matter what transpired on the field (although the good showing was deeply satisfying).  Sure seven ball games in five days were great.  Winning two of the last three games, including one against the #4 travel team in the country was awesome. 

But so was standing waist deep in the Gulf of Mexico.

And choosing a different restaurant every night. 

And swimming in the hotel pool in a tropical downpour.

And miniature golfing with a million of our very closest mosquito-friends. 

And stopping into the ghetto sneaker joint, and Arbolito having a really down conversation with a super-cool hip-hop sales dude.

And visiting the campus of Florida Gulf Coast University just as freshmen (girls) were arriving for orientation.

And finding out a friend from elementary school is on the founding faculty of this very young university and meeting her for dinner during yet another tropical downpour.

An immensely satisfying trip.  So much so, I just found out last night that one of my fellow Team Northwest dads is still wearing his Perfect Game Event Pass wristlet as a memento he had so much fun down there.

Continued in Part Deuce.