The Underdogs

I sit behind the fence and smile. Each crack of the bat gives me hope that they will have a successful night.

Forty-five minutes to go until the first pitch. The park is quiet and the encouragement is positive.

“Just like that , Keegan.”

“Come on Danny, you got this.”

‘Keep your head up, Brandon.”

Eleven little boys, their stomachs twisting and their minds racing, focus their energy on the task at hand: win this and make it to the championship game.

Nervous energy buzzes, and baseballs criss-cross from third to first and home to second. They’ve done this many times, skip the directions.

Kicking their heels into the dirt, reaching for the fly balls, pounding their gloves, it seems easy as they warm up.

Adults chuckle as they overhear two little ball boys talking in the dugout, “Who cares if they are the best team? They won’t be after we beat them!”

The dark clouds are rolling in and I fear a thunderstorm. I don’t want a game delay. I don’t want to postpone a win or a loss until tomorrow.

I refuse to give up hope. I believe in the underdogs.

I love my little underdog. I love his attitude and his in-his-favor reasoning. He told me at dinner, “In the movies, the underdogs win, you know that, right?”

Yes, they do, buddy!! Yes, they do!


By the look on his face, I guess you can tell what is happening tomorrow night!!



This post is part of The Daily Post’s Writing 101 challenge.

Go to a public location and make a detailed report of what you see. The twist of the day? Write the post without adverbs.


Writing 101: Day 4 It’s Not Whether You Win or Lose

Ian has always been on the losing team. I am not kidding. Every team he’s ever been on has been the worst. In both baseball and basketball, his team always has the worst record in the league.

This year is different. His team is 4-6, still not a winning record, but not the worst team either.  And they have lost some very close games.  It’s been an exciting season.


Batter up!! I’ve been horrible at taking pictures this season. This is, in part, because I take the dog with me to most games, and it’s hard to manage a camera and a ferocious 10 pound Yorkie.

Since this is the first season with the OmniPod, it was like a whole new ball game. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)  The first few practices and games he was dropping like crazy…The second practice he plummeted to 44. Our previous plan of giving him an extra 15g before activity didn’t work anymore.

Talk about frustrating and defeating.  It was just part of the learning curve.

After a little trial and error, we figured out that a temp basal set at 70% is enough to keep him from going low. We have to test him every few innings. It’s annoying to him but he knows that going low is going to take him out of the game for a while, and he sure doesn’t want that!

When Ian was diagnosed, we sat in the ER and the doctor asked him if he had any questions. Do you know what his very first question was?

“Can I still play sports?”

This boy lives for his sports. And honestly, he doesn’t care if he wins or loses. He just loves the game. With his track record, that’s a very good thing.


I love watching him pitch. Look how serious. He tries to plan out his pod placement so it doesn’t interfere with his nights to pitch.

The tournament starts on Tuesday. Is it too much to ask for just one more win?


Writing 101: Day 3 It Comes and Goes in Waves

There was this random line from a song that I could not identify. I just could not get it out of my head. I found myself saying it over and over to myself.  It came to me at times when I wanted to throw my hands up in the air, which seemed to be a lot lately.

Instead of saying “I give up!” or throwing in the towel, I heard this quiet whisper, as if a little guardian angel was sitting on my shoulder reminding me everything would be ok.

“It comes and goes in waves….”

Sometimes it comes and goes in violent, crashing waves.

Waves that slam into me like a brick wall.

Waves that pull me under.

And then sometimes life is a little more merciful, and it comes and goes in gentle waves.

Up and down, up and down, almost rolling.

Up and down, up and down.

I ride them out.

Because I know the waves will never stop.

Blood sugars, papers to grade, piles of laundry, memories, things breaking down and things needing fixed up, sadness and happiness, boredom and motivation, stress and peace, bills and surprises, loneliness and contentment….

It comes and goes in waves….

Writing 101: Day 2 Somewhere Other Than Here

I am sitting on the warm sand near the ocean. It’s our last day here. We had all agreed we needed to pack up early and get back to the beach house to clean and prepare for our departure tomorrow.

The time keeps getting later and later and no one is making a move to pack up. No one wants to call it quits. No one wants to interrupt this moment.

If we don’t move, time almost stands still even though the sun, a giant ball of yellow light, is quickly sinking behind the tall grass and the weathered, wooden walkway.

Except for the seagulls squawking, looking for remains of today’s picnics, and the rhythm of the waves crashing, it’s quiet on this beach. Not because of the late hour; it’s been this way all week. A quiet, fairly non-commercial strip of paradise guarded by massive beach houses, dream houses.

The few remaining beach goers are packing up as the tide is coming in, calling it a day.

And we all just hang on a little longer.

The littlest, a blonde haired angel with a polka-dotted suit, is squatting down and patting the sand with her chubby little hands. She chatters about the castle and how it’s “the best ever.” Her face lights up as the big kids dig and scoop and shout directions. She’s admired them all week, particularly fond of the little boy, her cousin, who is just a few years older.

He is frantically running back and forth to the water, his skinny arms barely strong enough to carry the orange bucket, water sloshing everywhere. His chest and shoulders and back are toasted brown after five days under the North Carolina sun. His cheeks have been protected from the sun by his faded gray baseball cap. He never takes it off as is obvious by its little boy smell of saltwater and sweat.

He runs to his sister, the oldest of the group and clearly in charge. Her long brown hair is in a salty, tangled braid and she squints in the sunlight. She looks different without her glasses, which she’s left safely back at the beach house. She points to a hole protected by a wall of sand that has been decorated with sticks and seaweed and shells.

He dumps the water into the hole just as a rush of water comes streaming in from both sides. They all scream and squeal as their castle collapses and their shovels and sand toys start to wash away into the sea….

Yes, this is where I long to be.