Having a ball

I think that a vast percentage of adults has, to some degree, Peter Pan Syndrome. No, not that we want to be buses or wear little hats (though both are nice goals) but that we don't want to grow up. What's so bad about growing up, you might ask. It would be a foolish question but I'm not here to judge you and your dumb questions.

You persist. "Growing up is awesome" you say. "You can stay up til, like whenever," you insist (and why must you put the word "like" in there?), "and you can eat what you want and do all sorts of cool things."

All very true. In some ways, growing up is crazy fun. And forget about the bills, the responsibilities, the job, the expanding waistline and the bodily failures and, eventually, the children who overuse the word "like." Being an adult has some serious perks. So why the PPS? It's the pressure. No, not the kind of pressure you are thinking of (unless you have read my mind, in which case, my apologies, I just always wondered about that...).

Today was a snow day -- the kind of day that kids look forward to and I, as a teacher, dread. I fall behind in curriculum, and, as I define myself by my role in school, I am forced to sit at home (after waking to shovel and go to shul) as a big ol' nothing. In an effort to pass the time without doing anything substantially productive (heaven forfend) I started watching videos. I enjoy youtube videos about sports -- best plays. Worst plays. Mediocre plays. Then I started watching about fans. I really like watching baseball players interact with fans. These guys make a boat load of money but are, effectively, playing a game. They are big boys who should be humble about the opportunity that they have and should be enjoying themselves, while ensuring that the paying public is having a good time. Then I saw a video about sportsmanship and a bunch of it had to do with how fans act.

I have been to a few games in my lifetime. My dad used to take us to Mets games back when the Mets were bad (which doesn't narrow things down, true). But they were bad at Shea, not Citi field. So, let's say, the late 70's and early 80's. I then started buying my own seats as I got older. A game or two a year. Loge...mezzanine...bleachers...even field level, back when they used to sell those. Whatever. I have even gone as a guest of a friend or another who has wicked good seats. The wife and I went once on tickets provided by her job (her job had co-opted her on a day when we were planning to go so they paid her back with exceptional seats for a game that the Mets lost in one hour and change). I have seen the Mets lose more often than win, but I have also seen thrilling moments and had a few drinks to make it all the less memorable. It is usually a win/win affair, as long as neither of those "wins" is related to the Mets' playing baseball.

I have, as of yet, never gotten a foul ball.

So I watched these videos and the recurring theme was the chivalry displayed when an adult got a ball and (un)ceremoniously handed it off to some child. Some of these children had tried to get the ball and failed because they were out flanked by the adult. Others were just sitting there, being children. Some were crying, others, not so much crying. But the adult handed that ball off.

So here's the thing. I can't do that.

If being an adult includes some sort of expectation that, given the chance, I am going to be perfectly reasonable and give up a ball so some kid WHO DIDN'T EVEN MAKE THE PLAY gets a freebie, I just can't do it. I can't be that adult who does the adult thing. I want a ball. Me. I don't want the 13 seconds of obligatory applause the fans give the guy who gives up his prized possession. I don't want the momentary praise from the TV announcers, or even the relative immortality of a short segment on the local news or (dare I dream) a youtube video. I want that ball. Sure, I can buy one, but this one would be from an actual game. I know, it has no practical value. It has no actual use or resale potential. It is a ball and I have no reason to want it, have it, or do anything else with it other than give it to a child to instill a love of decency and baseball in the next generation.

But I want the ball. I don't want the guilt, shame or negative attention. I just want to hold that ball and be able to be all cool about it and humble-brag. I want the story and the version in which I keep it and can show people is much more interesting than the one where I give it away (heck, I can make that one up and tell it already; there is no way to check on its truth value).

So, no, I don't want to be an adult because I'm still a kid in so many ways and the pressure to live up to the expectations set by other mature, responsible and (ugh) nice adults is not appealing to me. While I'm lying in bed with a bad back, bad knees, failing hearing, a receding hairline and a prostate that is announcing its discontent, I want to hold on to that ball because it is my "get out of adulthood free" card.

So for all you kids at home, baseball is a good an honorable sport. I'm an unapologetic jerk so stop looking at me like that. This ball is mine.