Take me out to the ballgame.....

A sleepy good morning from this Tiger fan!! Can you believe that my boys hung tough against those Indians to the tune of 13 innings? 12 to 12 in the twelve at 12 minutes after 12? Yeah, baby!!!!! We joke that in our family, baseball is in our DNA. It's practically our religion. My 94 year young Granny Iola still watches or listens to the Tigers. My Grandpa was a noted ball player and coach that drew respect from many. When living in Detroit, he rarely missed a home game. His sons, my uncles, also played and I was old enough to see their talent. Both of their sons were also stars and I loved cheering them on. My own Dad coached many champion ship teams with my brother playing. Sister Lisa, in lieu of a company Christmas party, loaded up a whole buss with employees and sojourned down for a Tigers game. I crashed the party and much hysteria ensued as it was some of the party's first Comerica Park experience. My, son was a great player and I was a great "team Mom." But instead of the usual pop and chips fare provided by most moms, I doled out natural juice and granola bars--much to my sons chagrin. Gotta eat healthy and grow to be big, bad, baseball players, I would remind them. The whole family would get to the games early and claim spots on the bench. Being in northern Michigan in May constituted the necessity of blankets and hats sometimes. But we persevered thru interminable t-ball games that were both really long and really BORING with little resemblance to the real game. But necessary to get the kids ready for the holy grail of Little League. When Dane pitched, I whoo hooed every strike and antagonized over every ball. There was a sorry incidence once, when he called a time out and stomped off the mound and over to the bench for a confab with me. Seems my loud --and in his opinion overzealous cheering was distracting him from his job. Well, EXCUSE me for livin'!!! As many of us can recall George and Ernie were the voices of summer, always on while Dad was grilling. When Alpena won the Junior Babe Ruth WORLD championships, well, I can tell you our whole town was upside down with baseball pride. Which brings me to the Pudge trade. I HATE trades cuz I get unnaturally attached to the players. I have a theory that I am sure would make more sense. I say, why don't we have a draft like in Little League? Coaches would one by one choose their players from the pool and what you ended up with, you had to coach. No more buying a team. Coaches would coach and train players in their weak spots and build the teams talent the old fashioned way. Players would be on the same team for five years and then we could have a re-draft. In the case of the Tigers, I would personally tend to their "hair needs" (Ah.h.h. Magglio) and also lead yoga classes!! I wouldn't have to see fan favorites like Pudge get sent off before I am ready. So, peace out Pudge, I will miss you with your talent, smile and reminder of who really gets the credit--by your sign of the cross. Our loss is New York's gain. xoxoxoo! Oh, and Whoo Hoo!