is baseball to blame?

for my hatred of baseball?

You, dear reader, I request that you act out in judgement of my question: Whose to blame for my hatred of baseball - me, or baseball?

Let’s scroll back to little Jimmy the nine year old baseball wannabe.

Er. Baseball player wannabe.

I had finished with the pathic folly of squirt. I finished my second year with the ability to throw the ball, catch, hit and occasionally keep my mouth shut.

I was like the frickin’ wayne Gretzky of baseball in my mind.

I was afraid of the ball - but that’s what happens when your dad first smashes your toth by mistake then smashes your mom’s face with a baseball by mistake.

Both occurrences were by mistake. There are witnesses who attest to this fact. I simply learned at a young age not to play catch with my dad because he threw with bad luck.

It was the first day of try outs for mosquito. Mosquitos suck but ‘Squirts’?

They made us play baseball as ‘squirts’.

Please, google the term.

Or rather don’t if you’re back at work or have any sense of decency whatsoever.

Rig…