The Only Kid in the Sports Bar ... Again

During last weekend's trip to the NCAA West Regionals (aka The Lowest Scoring Regional Since the Shot Clock) Quinn and I sought out a place to watch the games we weren't seeing in person. The "off" day between games in San Jose meant 4 games in other regions. There was enough riding on these games (more on that later) that we needed to watch them. Highlights wouldn't suffice.

So, like any good Dad I looked for a clean sports bar in downtown San Jose. We found the only one. One row behind the bar, high chairs (not highchairs), surrounded by grown men in Kansas and UCLA gear (apparently it wasn't an "off" day for the fans). Me and Quinn. I asked the server twice -- "we (motioning to the 9 year old) can sit here, right?" Apparently so.

Three banks of two TV's each, both games covered. Perfect. We sat down at the 19:00 mark of the first game, ordered too much food and stretched it out over the entire game. Good food, no foul language, not smoky, no drunk fans around us save one odd character -- a very memorable evening. Light rail (some cities have made public transportation a priority) back to the hotel, brush teeth and in bed to watch the second half of the late games. Quinn was sound asleep before 9 PM. Which is more than I can say for his last trip to a sports bar with his Dad...

Several of my Sonics alumni friends set up a "draft" NCAA pool but needed an extra participant. Enter Quinn. Rewind to three weeks ago, the night we returned from Phoenix -- up early that morning (ok, no different than any other morning), played baseball in the park, went to the Mariners spring training complex 3 hours pre-game, sat thru a game, rushed to rental car return, thru security, bags at the airport and p/u by loving wife -- after not enough food and too much sun was the night of the "draft." Quinn spent the entire flight meticulously rank ordering all 64 teams in the tournament. We got home from this 4 day marathon trip at 9:20 PM and dropped off Kate, Colin and Lawton.

Quinn and I rushed to The Ram (sports bar) by 9:30 PM. On a school night. After the trip. To gamble. In a bar. 7 guys and one 9 year old sitting around on a Tuesday night until after 11 PM drafting teams and putting money in the pot. I don't even have a good story from it or even particularly memorable quotes (Q: "that's a solid pick, Mickey," "Marshall, you realize that 6 of your teams are all in the same region"), just a great memory of a beaming, albeit tired kid doing what most would think are completely age-inappropriate activities.

Look out Roger Federer

Despite my insistence that this not become a "kids say the darndest things" blog, I would be remiss in not sharing Theology, according to Quinn and Colin. This story should be framed by reminding readers that Colin David Ballbach doesn't take things at face value. His older brother is much more willing to accept what he hears. When Quinn hears something in Sunday School he goes with it. I heard it from a reputable source so it must be true. Colin, on the other hand, needs more info. -- "but, WHERE is Jesus?" Up in the sky, in heaven, all around, none of them suffice. "No, WHERE exactly is He?"

So, when going to bed recently after saying prayers, Colin starts in again -- "but WHERE is Jesus, what does He do?" Perhaps we were tired, perhaps we just wanted to get downstairs and watch 4 Jon Stewarts awaiting on Tivo, I'm not sure exactly, but neither Kate nor I answered right away. In jumps older brother Quinn to fill the void.

"It's like He's all around, Colin -- he's all around you and everyone."

"No, but WHERE is Jesus"

Uh oh. Starting to go down a familiar path, 8:45, wouldn't be the first time he egged his older brother on, tired parents jump in, "OK guys time for bed. Talk more in the morning."

Older brother adds one final commentary -- "it's like there are lots of little Jesus' on your head, Colin and Jesus is the best at everything ever, the best basketball player, the best baseball player, the best football player..."

Parents thinking and glancing at each other -- "this could be interesting, let's see where this goes..."

Quinn, continues ... "the best at math, the best at Chess..."

And, then, the light bulb goes off with Colin, emphatically jumping in, "Yeah, it's like He's on my head and the best in the whole world at Tennis!!"

That's right, for 4 year old Colin to finally start to grasp who Jesus was he needed to understand that Jesus was right on top of his head and was very very good at Tennis. (Editors note: my son is crazy about sports -- baseball, basketball, football -- and probably watches too much of them, but has 1) never played tennis 2) never watched tennis 3) I don't believe ever said the word, tennis.

But that did it. He started to get a glimpse of the strange idea of an all powerful God by the proximity to his hair and a fuzzy yellow ball. I think we straightened out the lots of "little tiny Jesus'" part with a quick discussion of the trinity -- at least Quinn got it. I wish I could recall even more of the theological discussion that followed, but the light bulb moment was clear. We haven't heard the "where" question since and I'm certain Colin will be glued to Wimbledon in June hoping to catch a glimpse...

"Hi Willie Bloomquist!"

I'm sure any witnesses suspected I was using him as bait. Even at Spring Training, I learned, the practice of attracting the attention (read: autograph) of even a minor league ballplayer, is serious stuff. I'd seen the professional autograph hounds for years at the Sonics, and become fairly immune to it, but even quaint ballparks on sunny mornings in the Cactus league can't escape them.

Nearly 4 year old Colin, rosy cheeks from the 90 degree weather, over sized Mariners cap slightly askew, and Ichiro jersey t-shirt was a Spring Training magnet. Seat neighbors chuckled (except the woman who, unable to hide her exasperation, blurted "why do you keep touching my toes?" -- Biggie's fascination with toes, women's toes in particular, is as consistent as it is odd/troubling), ushers (they're all retirees and grandparents apparently) couldn't resist a greeting and conversation, and ballplayers went directly to him.

Maybe my parental bias shows in assuming his off-the-charts cuteness was responsible this. Perhaps it was the high-decibel, unrelenting, unmistakably child-like voice greeting he gave EVERY baseball player he saw. "Hi Yuniesky." "Hi, Jose Lopez, Hi." "Raul, Hi, Raul." No one escaped the onslaught of greetings. Sure he picked up a Sharpie every once in a while as the weekend wore on and he witnessed how everyone else interacted, but somehow Colin decided at the first spring training game (one of four... in four days .... plus a Suns game ... in 90+ degree weather ... yes, he's four, no it's not excessive and yes, we used sunscreen... liberally) that he was going to greet every baseball player he saw. If he knew them he would use their name, if he didn't he'd just say hi. Over and over.

To their credit, most players (tall first basemen and fleet-footed center fielders being the exception) responded. A wave, a smile, "hey buddy," "how ya' doin,'" tip of the cap, etc. provided a great acknowledgement. And many, sought out and approached the small, shrill greeting. It was a great moment, repeated often over four days, for a ball player to see the source of the greeting, come over assuming he'll have a Sharpie and ball thrust in his direction, but instead get the greeting again, "Hi", this time at close range. No strings attached, no autograph needed, just a near 4 year old saying hello.

It was actually quite disarming to see the players break out of their autograph coma when they realized this little guy just wanted to say hello. The ensuing reactions were genuine -- a return greeting, a high five, short conversation, just a moment of connection until the autograph hounds descended, washing the red-cheeked four year old into a sea of thrusting hands and balls -- "can you sign, can you sign, sign the sweet spot please, just one more..."

A week after returning, when breaking the news to Colin that he wasn't going on the upcoming NCAA regional basketball trip, he responded with only one question and this one directed at his older brother -- "Quinny, Quinny, when you go on your trip, are you going to say hi to the basketball players...."