Entry FeedI have two very smart sons. Please remember this as you read about their two recent T-Ball injuries.
Husband went to Canadian Tire (possible his favourite store) and bought the boys a new bat and "T" so that we can play T-Ball as a family. Saturday we spent the evening hitting the ball to my husband down and across the street. We live on a fairy regular Toronto neighbourhood street. There are a few cars. But we played there anyway, hitting from the corner of our front lawn across the road and down toward Husband who was our only fielder. There was only one park car hit, so we were doing well. The boys and I would each take two turns at bat, then Daughter would take three. I am not sure how that worked, but as they boys didn't complain, I didn't mention it.
Then Sunday Husband decided to take the boys up to a high school field near our home, while I took Daughter for a walk on Bloor Street. We passed the field on our way home, to be joined by Son One limping with a huge, bleeding gash on his ankle. I swear I could see it scraped down to the bone.
This is how Son One was injured. It was wet, as it has been many days this past week. And Son One was wearing Crocs. Husband set the "T" up on the cement and had the boys hitting to him in the field, taking turns of course. Then Son Two decided that after he hit, he would run imaginary bases. Fine. Then Son One decided that when Son Two hit, he would chase down the ball, then try to beat his brother home to get him out. Crocs, wet cement, and a wet plastic base attached to the bottom of the "T" don't mix. Son One came running home, touched the base, and slide on the wet cement, bare ankle on cement. He was still limping three days later.
Everyone came home. Then Monday I went to Walmart (remember the $124 shopping trip where I needed nothing?) Son One and Daughter came with me, so Husband decided to take Son Two back to the field for some more batting practice.
Again, Son Two decided to run pretend bases after each hit. His brother wasn't there to try to get him out. Son Two ran right over home plate. The "T" sticks up out of the middle of home plate. Son Two's legs aren't long enough that he can clear the "T"... do you see what I am trying to say? He bounced off and fell to the grass holding his privates (after previous day's incident, Husband decided to was safer to set up on the grass, even though it was wet).
The craziest part, is the that Son Two ran the bases many more times, running right through home as if the "T" didn't exist, and injuring himself a number more times before he figured it out.
I never thought of T-Ball as a dangerous sport. I am now trying to find them something that they can play were they can't get hurt; but really, where is the fun in that?