I checked my email and was immediately reminded of an eBay purchase I had made last night somewhere between "survey says" and the Girls thanking me for being their friend. A collection of five Saved by the Bell books shipped for less than four bucks total. Not a bad deal...but a reminder that I need to be banned from eBay after 10pm.
Strangely, this exact same thing happened last summer...Saved by the Bell books picked up late at night followed by the suggestion of a late-night eBay ban.
Today is my dad's birthday so we put together a hearty breakfast of homemade biscuits and gravy before deciding how to spend the rest of the morning. Yeah. I make homemade biscuits. So there.
On a side note, I defy you to find any two biscuit songs better than these:
The humidity of the day hadn't set in yet so we decided to head to a local nature trail for a morning walk. The kids grabbed plastic bags to collect any natural "treasures" they might come across.
Dad had plans for lunch with some friends so we headed for home. The kids were wiped out and I was sure that they would sleep for the entire two-hour drive home. I should have known better. They didn't.
So all of that leads me to the evening hours which included one of the greatest comeback stories of all time. Let me awe you with inspiration.
I started playing tennis early in high school. I wasn't bad but I certainly wasn't good. My junior and senior years in high school I played within the lower ranks of the top 6 on my school's tennis team -- again, not because I was that good...I was just less bad than enough of the other guys to get myself into the competitive rankings.
Throughout college I'd play tennis off and on with friends and helped coach the tennis team at the school where I did my student teaching back in the late 90s. I continued to play occasionally up until about four or five years ago when kids came into the picture and the person I played with most often moved away.
Last night, my friend Matt and I decided it was time for a comeback (you may remember Matt from our scientific Super Bowl predictions from last spring). He and I headed to some nearby courts, popped open a fresh can of balls, and we were in business. It took a few minutes to get into a groove but we felt pretty good; although, I admit my forehands and backhands were mixed with their share of miscues and shots off the frame of my racket. My confidence started to return which led to some less-calculated shots -- one being a forehand that sent the ball over the fence behind Matt and into a mass of thick foliage. Thick enough that we weren't going to find the ball.
That's cool though. We still had two balls. Why bring more, right? We just wanted to hit around a bit.
Forty-five minutes into our comeback, it happened again. I set my feet and prepared myself for a powerful forehand return. The ball had different ideas as it, too, sailed over the fence and into the (otherwise beautiful) greenery. Miscue.
With only one ball left, we called it a night.
Have you seen The Sandlot? Ham hits a home run -- over the fence and into the yard with the ferocious dog -- and everyone has to go home because that was their only ball?
That was us. Two guys in their thirties and we went home because we lost our ball.
The Summer of Tim continues...