Originally posted May 14, 2018.
This post is dedicated to all my baseball mom comrades, past and present. You know who you are and you know I couldn’t have done this without you.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You realize those flip-flop tan lines on your feet are actually red clay stains.
You might be a baseball mom if…
Every time you open your car door, a minimum of three half-empty water or Gatorade bottles falls out.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You’ve convinced yourself that Slim Jims, the pump cheese stuff on concession stand nachos and Dippin’ Dots are acceptable sources of protein.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You’re assaulted by the stench of rotten eggs when you walk into your house and immediately remember you forgot to rinse and launder the baseball pants left soaking overnight in a tub of Iron Out.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You accidentally discover, in addition to being the least caustic option for removing red clay stains, scrubbing a poison ivy rash with Fels Naptha is a sure fire way to stop it from itching and spreading.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You’ve had the pleasure of scraping more brick dust and sunflower seed shells from the lint trap in your clothes dryer than actual lint after a load of laundry.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You purchased your initial Costco membership expressly to gain access to economy sized pouches of Big League Chew, cases of Gatorade and boxes of Smucker’s Uncrustables.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You are disgusted by the injustice being committed by concession stand operators who feel entitled to charge $4 for a 16 ounce bottle of Dasani water when the cost of a case of 24 at the grocery store is $5.99 NOT $96.00.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You know you should be facing Old Glory during the playing of the national anthem, but you find it hard not to glance at your son, standing shoulder to shoulder with his teammates, knowing the image fills your heart with joy each and every time you have the honor of seeing it.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You’re mother to one, two, three or possibly four children, but your son counts more than thirty guys as his brothers.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You’ve suffered the shame and embarrassment of having to dump the entire contents of your handbag (including personal hygiene products and a bottle of Beano) into a gallon zip-lock bag when caught off guard by the “clear bag” policy of a certain university (*cough-Georgia Southern-cough*) that shall remain nameless.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You are the proud owner of a fashionable clear bag (see above) given, after further investigation, you discover the Rusty C is apparently the only facility in the entire conference that has not instituted a clear bag policy.
You might be a baseball mom if…
Your prayers include something along the lines of, “Dear God, thank you for our many blessings and if it is your will, please find a way for (insert son’s name) to somehow get a hit today. Amen.”
You might be a baseball mom if…
You cherish the post-game hug as much as – if not more than – the nine innings that precede it.
You might be a baseball mom if…
Your resting pulse accelerates to 90 beats per minute when your son trots to the bullpen… and 120 when he takes the mound.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You contemplate gnawing off your own arm as a viable and possibly less painful alternative to watching your son struggle to locate pitches.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You stifle impulses to scream obscenities at or even physically harm an umpire or the opposing team’s (*cough-Auburn-cough*) obnoxious fans.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You have the ESPN Watch app on your phone, tablet and every other mobile device in your household.
You might be a baseball mom if…
When forced to watch your son’s games via online streaming from your home computer, you cheer with such vigor and intensity you frighten the family dog.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You find yourself wondering why baseball is the only sport in which coaches wear the same uniform as the players.
You might be a baseball mom if…
Your wardrobe contains an overwhelming preponderance of team colors, spirit-wear and mascot-themed jewelry so hideously ridiculous that no sane person would be caught wearing any of it in public and yet you do… proudly.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You feel an insatiable urge to change seats when your son’s team is losing.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You refuse to change seats (even when confronted by the actual ticket holder for the seat in which you are sitting) when your son’s team is winning.
You might be a baseball mom if…
Your vocabulary includes a compendium of words and phrases that sound like complete gibberish outside the ballpark. These include can o’ corn, frozen rope, golden sombrero, nice hack and ribbie to name a few.
You might be a baseball mom if…
During especially tense situations (say, for example, your relief pitcher inherits a bases-loaded-no-out jam) you find yourself repeating the mantra it’s only a game…it’s only a game…it’s only a game…
You might be a baseball mom if…
You are convinced there is a direct correlation between offensive rallies that result in come-from-behind wins in the bottom of the ninth and breaking out the Blow Pops.
You might be a baseball mom if…
You shriek, “RUN, RUN, RUN,” so loudly when your son makes solid contact (C’mon…it was his first college at bat) that the home plate ump turns around and glares at you.
And finally, you might be a baseball mom if…
Upon returning to the bleachers from a between-innings trip to the bathroom, the parents of your son’s teammates order you to return from whence you came because in your absence your team scored seven…count ’em…seven runs and… you do it.
You. Do. It. You do it because…you might be ARE a baseball mom.
This post is dedicated to all my baseball mom comrades, past and present. You know who you are and you know, I couldn’t have done this without you. Nor would I have wanted to. Thanks for the memories.
#BaseballMom #NoRegrets
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