The past-tense pasttime dream

I merely want what all parents want in life: for my son to throw a 98 mile an hour fastball and bat .300, ensuring a free-ride scholarship at a top-flight university (in part due to good grades), thereby saving me and the missus hundreds of thousands of dollars in education costs which can then be funneled into my dehabilitating addiction to single malt scotch.  

I know I'm not alone in that desire. Why? Two key reasons:

• Because by the time he's 18, inflation will drive the four-year cost of an Ivy League-or-comparable education will run $400k+.  I'd prefer to pocket that money instead, because (a) I am selfish, (b) I am a dick, (c) I am lazy, (d) I clearly put my own needs over my children's well being, and (e) as previously mentioned, I really like Oban and Laphroaig 18 year scotch.  
• They don't give scholarships for mathletes,  there's relatively few good football schools with academic bona fides that my wife wouldn't dismiss quickly, derisively, and fairly, and my son likely will top out below 6' 4", leaving basketball greatness outside of his wingspan reach.  That leaves baseball.

So we signed Connor up for t-ball.  And I now know I better start saving for his higher education, because a five-tool player he is not.  His hitting isn't hot. Hitting for power is a pipe dream at best.  He can't field.  He can't throw - I mean, he had the ball in his mitt, went to throw - with both hands, ball in mitt - and proceeded to launch the ball an exacting three feet in the opposite direction form the coach who was his cut-off man.  And hell, he can't even run.  Well, he can run, he just doesn't know what he's doing. He batted, got to first, ran to second, rounded third, and didn't know where home was - so he ran back to the bench.

In fairness, t-ball with the preschool set is unfathomable.  Ever seen little kids play soccer? The way you have the ball and twenty kids in a scrum around the ball, chasing it wherever it might go? Yeah, that's what fielding is like at t-ball, except with more staccato action and a greater chance for injury.  One kid hitting on a tee, ten kids blobbed together in the middle infield, and a mad tangle of grabbing and squabbling with each bunted ball.  I expect Connor's first loose tooth will be by week four, when a slow dribbler results in him being accidentally tackled by his teammate.  And heaven help us if any of the kids develops into a hitting prodigy who belts line drives off the tee - Connor spent as much time with hisback turned playing with the loose infield sand as he did paying attention to the batter.

What does this teach me?  That this "extremely limited TV diet" is clearly not working.  If Connor at least watched a few more Yankees games, at least he'd have the basics down.  Like what the basepaths are. I mean, I was uncomfortable - even the fat British grandmother of one of the kids howled in laughter as Connor  moped when neither the first nor second grounder of the day was hit to him.

Whatever. I guess Harvard's out of the question.  Sigh.