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WITandWISDOM(tm) - January 23, 2001

~~~~~~~ THOUGHTS:

"Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things, I am tempted to think that there are no little things." - Bruce Benton

Source: Inspiration A Day!, inspiration_a_day- subscribe@listbot.com


As an 11-year-old, I was addicted to baseball. I listened to baseball games on the radio. I watched them on TV. The books I read were about baseball. I took baseball cards to church in hopes of trading with other baseball card junkies. My fantasies? All about baseball.

I played baseball whenever and wherever I could. I played organized or sandlot. I played catch with my brother, with my father, with friends. If all else failed, I bounced a rubber ball off the porch stairs, imagining all kinds of wonderful things happening to me and my team.

With this attitude, I entered the 1956 Little League season. I was a shortstop. Not good, not bad, Just addicted.

Gordon was not addicted. Nor was he good. He moved into our neighborhood that year and signed up to play baseball. The kindest way to describe Gordon's baseball skills is to say that he didn't have any. He couldn't catch. He couldn't hit. He couldn't throw. He couldn't run.

In fact, Gordon was afraid of the ball.

I was relieved when the final selections were made and Gordon was assigned to another team. Everyone had to play at least half of each game, and I couldn't see Gordon improving my team's chances in any way. Too bad for the other team.

After two weeks of practice, Gordon dropped out. My friends on his team laughed when they told me how their coach directed two of the team's better players to walk Gordon into the woods and have a chat with him. "Get lost" was the message they delivered, and "get lost" was the message that was heard.

Gordon got lost.

That scenario violated my 11-year-old sense of justice, so I did what any indignant shortstop would do. I tattled. I told my coach the whole story. I shared the episode in full detail, figuring my coach would complain to the league office and have Gordon returned to his original team. Justice and my team's chances of winning would be served.

I was wrong. My coach decided that Gordon needed to be on a team that wanted him - one that treated him with respect, one that gave everyone a fair chance to contribute according to his own ability.

Gordon joined our team.

I wish I could say Gordon got the big hit in the big game with two outs in the final inning. It didn't happen. I don't think Gordon even hit a foul ball the entire season. Baseballs hit in his direction (right field) went over him, by him, through him or off him.

It wasn't that Gordon didn't get help. The coach gave him extra batting practice and worked with him on his fielding, all without much improvement.

I'm not sure if Gordon learned anything from my coach that year. I know I did. I learned to bunt without tipping off my intention. I learned to tag up on a fly if there were less than two outs. I learned to make a smoother pivot around second base on a double play.

I learned a lot from my coach that summer, but my most important lessons weren't about baseball. They were about character and integrity. I learned that everyone has worth, whether they can hit .300 or .030. I learned that we all have value, whether we can stop the ball or have to turn and chase it. I learned that doing what is right, fair and honorable is more important than winning or losing.

It felt good to be on that team that year. I'm grateful that man was my coach. I was proud to be his shortstop and his son.

By Chick Moorman

Source: A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul, Copyright (c) 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee McCarty, www.soupserver.com/

~~~~~~~ THIS & THAT:


"Equal" is not always synonymous with "the same." Men and women are created equal. But, boys and girls are not born the same.

You throw a little girl a ball, and it will hit her in the nose. You throw a little boy a ball, and he will try to catch it. Then it will hit him in the nose.

You dress your little girl in her Easter Sunday best, and she'll look just as pretty when you finally make it to church an hour later. You dress a boy in his Easter Sunday best, and he'll somehow find every mud puddle from your home to the church, even if you're driving there.

Boys' rooms are usually messy. Girls' rooms are usually messy, except it's a good smelling mess.

A baby girl will pick up a stick and look in wonderment at what nature has made. A baby boy will pick up a stick and turn it into a gun.

Boys couldn't care less if their hair is unruly. If their bangs got cut a quarter-inch too short, girls would rather lock themselves in their room for two weeks than be seen in public.

Baby girls find mommy's makeup and almost instinctively start painting their face. Baby boys find mommy's makeup and almost instinctively start painting the walls.

If a girl accidentally burps, she will be embarrassed. If a boy accidentally burps, he will follow it with a dozen fake belches.

Boys grow their fingernails long because they don't want to bother cutting them. Girls grow their fingernails long - not because they look nice - but so that they can protect themselves from the boys.

Girls are attracted to boys, even at an early age. At an early age, boys are attracted to dirt.

Baby girls often talk earlier than boys do. Before boys talk, they learn how to make machine-gun noises.

Girls turn into women. Boys turn into bigger boys called men.

Submitted by John L. Bechtel


A college professor asked his class a question. If Philadelphia is 100 miles from New York and Chicago is 1000 miles from Philadelphia and Los Angles is 2000 miles from Chicago, how old am I.

One student in the back of the class raised his hand and when called upon said "Professor your 44.." The Professor said "you're absolutely correct, but tell me how did you arrive at the answer so quickly?"

The student said. "You see professor I have a brother, he's 22 and he's half nuts."

Source: Bill's Punch Line, bills-punch-line- subscribe@egroups.com

~~~~~~~ TRIVIA:

Why are umbrellas so often black?

It would be wonderfully poetic if the color reflected sadness provoked by gray skies, if we were in symbolic mourning for a lost sunny day. It would be more prosaic, but still interesting, if we made umbrellas black to put a certain solidity, gravity, and seriousness in our lives.

But the reality of it is that the color is nothing more than a byproduct of the way that umbrellas were originally made in the 18th century. The cotton cloth had to be waterproof. This was accomplished by soaking it in an oil that left the fabric with the characteristically grave color. Custom and tradition being what they are, that color became the "natural" one. Personally, I prefer purple polka dots.

From: EVER WONDER WHY? by Douglas B. Smith

Source: MailBits.com Copyright (c) 1998-2001. All rights reserved. Trivia- subscribe@mailbits.com

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