And now about me old pappy. My father would take me and my brother with him hunting in the woods. Dad attempted year after year to teach me to shoot his rifle and shotgun well enough to hit at least a stationary target if not a duck or something. Try as I might, I just couldn't hit anything. And he attempted to have me throw a baseball without it constantly flying wildly into someone else's yard (after all, he himself as a young man was the star pitcher in his rural-region amateur league). I just couldn't chunk the old ball; my Little League coach assigned me to first base so that I wouldn't have to throw to anyone. So when my father died years ago, what did he leave me? His old guns and his old amateur-league baseball. Go figure.
-Old Gargoyle
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