[O'Neill] The way the game is played
Who: Jack O'Neill
When: Wednesday, May 03, just after If you build it, they will come
Where: Sports field, O'Neill's office.
Invited: Ami Jackson
Status Complete
It was a good turn-out. Parents, kids... all came out for the baseball league try-outs. They'd been set up deliberately so as no child would be turned away due to lack of experience. After all, have to start -somewhere-, right?
There were a couple 'bad apples', parents, that berated their kids, other peoples' kids, the umpire, the coaches.. and the general set-up. There were always 'those kind', and for the most part, not only did the kids ignore them, their -own- kids did as well; treated with an *eyeroll* and a shuffle of embarrassment. When asked, they were quickly and easily disavowed, and another topic was found almost immediately thereafter. Some kids were just pros that way.
Still going on, but slowly winding down in favor of the pick-up game, there was a particularly stalwart looking young man at the plate, batting-- couldn't have been more than 9. His stance was almost... too perfect... as if the boy had been coached all his life. He wore a batting helmet on his head, and beneath the slight bill, his eyes were steadfastly on the pitcher. The two boys held each others' gaze, before...
"C'mon, Carl.. you can do it! No batter! No batter!" The chatter began. "BatterBatterBatterBatter-- SWING!"
From the other side, not technically a team, there were a couple of kids routing for the lad with the bat as well. Not quite as organized, certainly, but no less heart-felt. "Do it, Mike! Knockitouttathepark!" There were a couple scattered moments of applause, and after a couple of beats of hands clapping, a few found a rhythm, and kept it going.
Out on third base, or rather, off to the side, a rather sweaty, but genuinely happy in the moment Major General Jack O'Neill was also clapping his hands. He was the third base 'coach', though he gives advice for both fielding and the runner, so... not so much a 'coach' as a 'guide' and 'mentor' through the difficulties called 'try-outs'. His voice was hoarse from the calling, the yelling to be heard, and the chances were good he'd lose it by the evening's end, but that wasn't stopping him. Oh no.. the 'big kid' was playing.. and having a great time.
"C'mon, Mikey.. they've got a hole in right field.. Just tuck in a little!" As Jack said that, however, the response was almost immediate from the fielder. The center shifted, plugging up what Jack saw as a 'hole'... "An easy drop!"
The pitcher settled in.. and began his windup.. and the first throw was straight over the plate in a perfect 'strike' zone. The home-plate umpire called the pitch... Mike hadn't swung. The smaller kids were incredulous.. but the batter absolutely refused to comment, instead, paying full attention to the goings on.
Jack, out at third base, grinned from under his olive drap-colored cap. Oh... he liked this kid. Lots of smarts.. and was playing the game. Reminded him of Charlie, only his son needed more coaching to be able to work a pitch, and was almost at the level. This kid was a 'natural'. Clapping his hands again, he called out, "You got it, Mikey.. let's go.. "
It wasn't two pitches more before Mike got 'a piece' of the ball and sent it flying almost exactly where Jack had called the shot. The young boy took off around the plates, passing first easily, second was a little tight, and he had to slide at third. The ball, while not caught, was thrown in quickly...
It wasn't long before Mikey was 'sent home', and the call was made for everyone to come in. Team assignments would be made.. and as Jack came in, he removed his cap for a moment, wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow and replaced the hat, calling out, "Hey Mikey.. nice job." That brought a grin from the lad, a toothy grin. "Thank you, general."
When: Wednesday, May 03, just after If you build it, they will come
Where: Sports field, O'Neill's office.
Invited: Ami Jackson
Status Complete
It was a good turn-out. Parents, kids... all came out for the baseball league try-outs. They'd been set up deliberately so as no child would be turned away due to lack of experience. After all, have to start -somewhere-, right?
There were a couple 'bad apples', parents, that berated their kids, other peoples' kids, the umpire, the coaches.. and the general set-up. There were always 'those kind', and for the most part, not only did the kids ignore them, their -own- kids did as well; treated with an *eyeroll* and a shuffle of embarrassment. When asked, they were quickly and easily disavowed, and another topic was found almost immediately thereafter. Some kids were just pros that way.
Still going on, but slowly winding down in favor of the pick-up game, there was a particularly stalwart looking young man at the plate, batting-- couldn't have been more than 9. His stance was almost... too perfect... as if the boy had been coached all his life. He wore a batting helmet on his head, and beneath the slight bill, his eyes were steadfastly on the pitcher. The two boys held each others' gaze, before...
"C'mon, Carl.. you can do it! No batter! No batter!" The chatter began. "BatterBatterBatterBatter-- SWING!"
From the other side, not technically a team, there were a couple of kids routing for the lad with the bat as well. Not quite as organized, certainly, but no less heart-felt. "Do it, Mike! Knockitouttathepark!" There were a couple scattered moments of applause, and after a couple of beats of hands clapping, a few found a rhythm, and kept it going.
Out on third base, or rather, off to the side, a rather sweaty, but genuinely happy in the moment Major General Jack O'Neill was also clapping his hands. He was the third base 'coach', though he gives advice for both fielding and the runner, so... not so much a 'coach' as a 'guide' and 'mentor' through the difficulties called 'try-outs'. His voice was hoarse from the calling, the yelling to be heard, and the chances were good he'd lose it by the evening's end, but that wasn't stopping him. Oh no.. the 'big kid' was playing.. and having a great time.
"C'mon, Mikey.. they've got a hole in right field.. Just tuck in a little!" As Jack said that, however, the response was almost immediate from the fielder. The center shifted, plugging up what Jack saw as a 'hole'... "An easy drop!"
The pitcher settled in.. and began his windup.. and the first throw was straight over the plate in a perfect 'strike' zone. The home-plate umpire called the pitch... Mike hadn't swung. The smaller kids were incredulous.. but the batter absolutely refused to comment, instead, paying full attention to the goings on.
Jack, out at third base, grinned from under his olive drap-colored cap. Oh... he liked this kid. Lots of smarts.. and was playing the game. Reminded him of Charlie, only his son needed more coaching to be able to work a pitch, and was almost at the level. This kid was a 'natural'. Clapping his hands again, he called out, "You got it, Mikey.. let's go.. "
It wasn't two pitches more before Mike got 'a piece' of the ball and sent it flying almost exactly where Jack had called the shot. The young boy took off around the plates, passing first easily, second was a little tight, and he had to slide at third. The ball, while not caught, was thrown in quickly...
It wasn't long before Mikey was 'sent home', and the call was made for everyone to come in. Team assignments would be made.. and as Jack came in, he removed his cap for a moment, wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow and replaced the hat, calling out, "Hey Mikey.. nice job." That brought a grin from the lad, a toothy grin. "Thank you, general."