Operation: Little League

I've been to the future, and I'm sure that you all know this by now. But one of my greatest and proudest moments as a father came from a date not to far ahead.

My son Joseph grew up to be a terrific baseball player. In the 4th grade, he played in an international league on the American team (duh.) This team was full of heroes:

• Larry the all-star homerun hitter, but bad in the field
• Franklin, the all-star shortstop, but a clutz at the plate
• Sammy, the all-star pitcher, but he smelled really bad

But Joseph was great at all the aspects of the game AND didn't smell like a fart sandwich with extra mayo. He was the real hero of the team.

So it was the end of the season, and the American team was up against the infamous Indian team. They wore red and blue uniforms with large snake symbols on there chests and backs. Terrifying. Their team was made up of some pretty good players, but their main star was a kid by the name of Bra. He wasn't the best at bat or on the field, but he was crafty. His slyness and extraordinary leadership lead his team to an undefeated season to this point. Bra was our main threat to a flawless season.

On game day, Joseph and I got caught in a huge traffic jam on our way to the field in our hover car. When we finally arrived at the field, the game was in the last inning, and the American team was down by one run. Things weren't looking good. As we got to the dugout, one of the parents on the Indian's bleachers stood up, pointed at my son, and shouted in agony "Oh no! The real American hero! Joe is there!"

At that point the parents on each set of bleachers really got into the game. Joseph put on his helmet, took his bat and walked up to the plate. The bases were loaded, and Bra was pitching. The crowds started chanting. The American parents started to cheer on there number one star as the Indian's did the same. "Go Joe" and "Go Bra" were heard shouted back and forth. "Gooo Joe!" "Go-Bra!" "Goooooooo Joe!" GoBra!"

The pitch.

WHACK!!! Joseph clobbered it. The ball flew way over the heads of the Indian outfielders. In a rather high pitched and raspy voice, Bra yelled to his teammates "Retreat! Retreat! You must catch the ball from behind where you are now!" But it was too late. Home run! The American's have triumphed!

What a day... that will be

Oh, and after the game, one of the Indian's parents, dressed in mostly yellow and gold and a cape, attacked me. In a quick defensive move, I threw him onto the B.E.T. I remember the distinct smell of burnt serpent.