He had other talents as well. He was the first boy in his class to blow bubble gum bubbles, he can burp a burp that will make you stop, look, and feel general concern for his physical well-being. He is an amazing artist, loves the guitar, and is a fabulous wing man. In fact, in a laundry room in the basement of an old apartment building, he once totally picked up some guy. That guy is now his godfather.
Boy's got mad skilz, yo.
He has one other god given talent; the Great American Pastime, Baseball. To see that boy throw or hit a ball is like watching poetry get smacked with metal and flung through the air at 60 miles and hour. He's good.
His momma signed him up for Little League, and due to the world's most incompetent group of Bud drinkin' idiots a scheduling error or two, the boys team had no coach. The boys momma volunteered. The boys momma has never played a day of baseball in her life, and was given a group of children to coach who were shipped in from Hades 2 days a week to get some fresh air and exercise. When the season was over, the boy had learned only one thing; he was better than every kid on that team. Not just talent-wise, but, like, character-wise.
The boys momma got down on her knees and cried in front of a candle lit alter to the mother of sweet baby Jesus in all her glory when the season ended.
And then that moron had the boy try out for the select team. He got on the team.
This weekend, you will not be hearing much from the boys momma, since she's got to be up well before dawn cracks its ass to get three kids out the door for 2 solid, action packed days of 8 year old Little League Championship games. Which the boys team is not nearly good enough to win, thank god, because if this crap goes on much longer, the boys momma may start hittin' the drink.
Cross your fingers for the boy, okay? He looks mighty cute in his little uniform.