Happy birthday to dad. Yep, another year older....perhaps wiser...although he is often the voice of reason when the poo hits the fan around here. Then again, he can also say the wrong thing on multiple occasions....like this morning....he looked at me and said in all of his concern and devotion "You look awful."
Thanks pal...I just had a whirlwind 24 hours, was food poisoned, had a bit of a breakdown, and drove to campus and home with ice on the road. No worries...at least I had my health....
So, what is going on? Sorry, Wildcat, this is a repeat so you can stop reading. By the way, thanks for talking me through a few issues. Have you thought of adding 'therapist' to your accomplished resume?
Where was I? Oh yeah...room 232 in the Hampton Inn and trying to fix my son up with the cute poly sci desk clerk (failed).....although she recommended Damon's on the corner for dinner. Thinking that it was a good suggestion, we walked over to the restaurant since it was icy and I did not want to drive to Panera.....
Then my hyper active 'got to fix this problem' tendency went into overdrive. I was ready to take on the Czar, Psycho, the world of baseball, and global unrest.
As we walked into the restaurant, I should have turned around, gone back to room 232 and ordered pizza. But, it was 8:30 and we had to do something.....oye....First, the heat was out and the restaurant was heated through space heaters...it was dirty....and since I am a germ phobe, I did not listen to my inner self screaming "MAY DAY! Turn around and run...now! Why are you sitting down? Have you lost your mind? Well, sister, prepare to toss your cookies...." Actually, I rolled the dice thinking that I would win this one...boy was I wrong...
And so, over a disgusting sandwich, we talked...and talked...talked some more....paid the bill....walked back to room 232 while talking...continue talking....no end to talking in sight...continued to talk....then he fell asleep. I ordered a second bed so that he would not travel back to his apartment via the icy roads. After showering, he admitted to me that he cannot sleep in his apartment because there are so many bugs. Although, get this...he claims that he keeps it clean. Dude, I am your momma and know that your idea of clean is closing the front door. Face it, the bugs have found a cozy home with you. Now, let me make this next sentence very clear: "You are to leave you little friends in the apartment or on the field. I do not want any of your BFFs in my house. If I find them among your belongings, I will escort you and your multi legged creatures to the back door....
Back to the therapy session.....
Here are the highs and lows.
~The elbow hurts so bad that he feels that he ripped something. The trainer says a 'strain'. Uncle Dr G says "a strain"...and here is what you do....ice....stim...massage...rest...a brace...no lifting...no lifting...no lifting....ultrasound.....
~His arm is down for at least another week, if I have my way.
~Upon seeing the depth chart, he had a breakdown. He dropped from number 1 to the last man out of the bullpen who also washes uniforms and cleans the toilets...kidding....
~Also, he is not....let me repeat....not on the poster. Yes, this is the annual poster that has the seniors on it. All of the seniors are supposed to be on it as faces of the program. This year the Czar made a decision to have only four of the seniors thereby dissing the big lefty and the rest of the guys who have worked their way through the last four years and have withstood abuse. He claims that he does not care, but I know better. He is upset and justifiably so. As I said to him "this will add drama to your book, as you go out there and mow down your opponents." And yes, it is just a stupid poster. You will have your own baseball card and the kids will be trading their cards for yours. Just sayin'
~After training over the Christmas break, his fast ball was clocking in at 91 mph. With the introduction of the university's training program and not having an option, his pitch went from unhittable to so so at 86 mph. And he has a sore elbow!
~ I sent him to practice on Monday with one phrase...'no lifting'.....lo and behold, the strength coach demanded that he lift with his upper body. Then it happened for the first time ever, the big kid said "no."
What? This guy has total power at the university. He is omnipotent. No one ever says no to him. He says 'jump', the guys say 'how high?'
Not this time....He continued to berate the ailing kid.....'lift with a lesser weight.'
"NO"
"What?"
"My arm is sore. I am not going to lift."
Then the trainer spat back "just take one of your &%#( epson salt baths and come back to me. You psycho." Did any trainer ever say this to Roy Haliday? Sandy Koufax? Cole Hamels?
Therapeutic, eh?
There are other stories, but I will leave them for a future post. As the night wore down, Uncle Dr G, an orthopedic surgeon....let me repeat his credentials....he is an orthopedic surgeon at a ritzy local hospital with a stellar reputation called.
"You are NOT to lift when you throw. Ever...."
Then he told him to follow a best practice model based of treating the inflammation which does not include weight lifting....ever....the goal is to be limber and loose. I just do do understand how a university with a world wide reputation for certain quality and not-so-quality activities would allow malpractice to take place in the locker room. That's right....malpractice...this guy is moving toward disability with his dominant arm if things do not change.
On to last night...I did not take the call since I was in bed with some ginger ale....that's right....my inner self was right on Monday night and I should never have even inhaled anything in that restaurant.
Dad got the call....apparently, his friend Sky-high was pitching a bullpen and the Czar was screaming expletives at him. Did the Czar know that Sky-high's dad was just diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer yesterday? Uh...dunno...but suddenly, the big lefty stopped thinking about himself and took care of Sky-high by hitting the local Chipotle to chat. By the way, I was informed that I had actually taken Sky High out to Chipotle as I will discover when my American Express bill comes for the month of February.
Please, someone throw a net over this coach (and I use the term loosely). He is a nightmare. I am not saying this because I disagree with him or that I am a helicopter parent, but the nights and days that I have to talk my kid off the ledge and hearing about Sky High has put me into a state of concern for all of the guys. You see, he is a bully...
Bullies are insecure and pick on the people without control, like the players. Bullies are mean, vindictive, and will get theirs in the end. Do I want to see a man go down (in a figurative sense) as he loses his job? No, I don't take pleasure in this one, but someone has to stand up for these guys. The fact that they don't throw strikes is not in their heads.
It is a fundamentals flaw. here is where he is out of his league, so to speak. With nothing constructively to add, he screams and calls them 'head cases.' Yes, coach, they are mental cases because you have made them so. By making them so insecure about their positions and talent, they consonantly question their worth and are terrified of making a mistake.
One last thing....when all of this is over, a letter goes to the athletic director. Why? Why don't I let it go?
Well, I would if I thought that the playing field was level, constructive coaching was actually taking place, and the guys were treated individually. In other words, know your players, listen to their concerns not to 'Fresno' them but to work with them. Lastly, it is not his decision to over ride the best medical minds in the country, violate federal privacy laws, and drive kids/young men to depression and despondence. There are so many violations, that I cannot count, but will one day.
In fact, on the last day of BP mom blog in June after the major league draft, I will name the university and coaches. That's a promise.
Thanks for reading...
Peace!
No comments:
Post a Comment