Dog Bites and Bee Stings

I am the proud owner of an official Major League Baseball. Sometimes, when I am thinking, or stressed, or in a good mood, I lay in bed and use the baseball. I throw it up above me with my right hand, watch it spin, see my right hand catch it, and hear it smack against my palm and fingers. Then, I throw it up again. 

My father has described a baseball as “a perfect object,” and I find it hard to disagree with him. It’s a very simple object, fun to spin in your hand, and it fits in most hands comfortably. It’s hard not to try out different grips while handling a baseball. Maybe I’ll go with a four-seamer, or a two-seamer, or a curveball. The change-up grip is one I’ve never settled on. It’s a tricky pitch to get just right. I did a little pitching in high school and still have my glove I used back then. It’s one of my most cherished objects. If ICE ever comes for me and asks me to show my papers, I’ll just show them my glove and ball and tell them I’m red, white, and blue through and through.

Speaking of ICE, I wonder when they will start hunting their own. Certainly some of those agents are here on faulty grounds. Maybe their ancestors came over from Europe and took over a country already occupied by people. Could be something to look into.