It’s safe to say that my daughter has spent a great deal of her summer at Miller Park watching baseball. I’m pretty sure she understands the game, and if there is one goal that she has it’s to catch a fly ball.
This week she’s in baseball camp at the YMCA. She was told to bring a hat, baseball glove, and a bat. She has all three. When I picked her up at camp Monday night she immediately told me that she can’t use her bat. What? And then she casually told me it’s because it’ll break in half if she uses it.
Oh yes. The kids at camp have her convinced that if she hits the ball with her wooden bat it’ll break. IN HALF.
I directed her to her father who assured her that it WOULD NOT BREAK IN HALF, but she’s still not convinced and left the bat in my car this morning.
Okay, stay with me here because I’m about to do something that could be confused for math.
We’ve been to 11 Brewers games this year, if each are nine innings long and each inning has on average six batters (times two because each team has to bat), that comes to 1188 times that we’ve seen a professional baseball player up to bat. There has only been a handful of times where the bat has broken upon hitting the ball.
I’m willing to say that the chances of her catching a fly ball at the Brewers game is greater than of her hitting the ball and breaking her bat. Don’t you agree?
I don’t remember anyone ever breaking a bat during the years my brother played Little League. I know that was ancient times, but surely wooden bats aren’t more brittle than they were back when?
:: mingle ::
When my son was about your daughter’s age, I bought him his own Louisville slugger. (Beautiful bat; I wonder if it’s still around here.) He played Little League, was a pretty good hitter, but he never broke his bat. I bought it because I hate aluminum bats.
Those girls are jealous.