now starting at shortstop for the 2026 ny mets...

a couple of weeks ago i was down here on the computer and stephen was upstairs playing with mr. baby man, and all of the sudden he yells down to me, "you've got to come up here! i taught him how to play catch!" when i didn't come running immediately—i mean, catch is exciting and all, but i was in the middle of an email—he yelled again: "seriously, you should really come up here! he's throwing the ball!" i've never heard him sound so proud. eventually i went up and took stephen's place across from wile to experience the catch for myself, and, well... i threw the ball into his lap, he picked it up and kinda dropped it down by his feet, so i was all "oopsie!" and waiting for him to pick it up and burn one in to me, and stephen said "no, that's his throw! now you throw it back!" ah-ha.

okay, to give stephen's enthusiasm some credence, wile definitaly did seem to understand the back-and-forth concept. and every once in a while he managed to get it beyond his toes. it was, as stephen said, "the larval stage of catch."

but, people, that was a couple of weeks ago. now? my baby is a throwing machine. this has its good and bad points....

on the plus side:
- catch is a no-fail way to make him happy when he's cranky
- when there's a ball in his line of vision, there is no question what the eeeeeeehhhhhhhh!!! means.
- the look of joy on his face when he's playing catch is pretty amazing

on the minus side:
- a good trip to the swings can be ruined by some kids playing ball on the other side of the park....
- the throwing is not limited to nice squishy balls. anything that he can get his hands on is now a projectile. the other day stephen asked me why my legs were all bruised. i wonder.
- his aim is still a little bit iffy, so i have to position him (and me) in just the right place or i end up chasing the ball (or whatever) around the room, under the couch among the tumblefur, into the hallway....
- catch is a two-person game. this is not always a minus, but sometimes it really, really is.

the other day we were at the playground playing catch with his hackey sack (he now has a tennis ball, a zoomph, a baseball (more on that later), a purple kickball, and a hackey sack) and we met two 1-year olds there who were trying to show wile up with their walking skills, but could they throw? not even a little bit. one did a little underhanded roll kinda thing, but then wile took the ball and threw a heater and showed him who's boss.

last week we went down to philly with aunt syd to go see the phillies play the diamondbacks from the sweet 9th-row seats that she gets through her work. in the middle of the ninth inning, max took wile down to the dugout to see if he could get him a ball. kenny lofton, who had caught a fly ball for the final out of the top of the ninth, ran right into the dugout and didn't give the ball to anybody. so max kept yelling for a ball for "his son" (heh) until bobby abreau popped out of the dugout and threw him a ball. so please join me in hoping that bobby abreu makes the all-star team and keeps carrying the phils, and that kenny lofton, oh, i dont know, pulls his groin or something nice like that.