While living in Calgary, Canada (not a hot bed for baseball!) I encouraged (he says "forced) my son to play baseball. That first year he made several good plays but didn't get very many hits at all. When he did, he was thrilled; but the emotion didn't last as he fell into a hitting slump of extended duration. Regardless, his team won the league championship but he made it very clear he hated baseball and wouldn't play again. Well Spring came and so did baseball. I prevailed and once again he took to the diamond to appease Dad. This season he played better but still couldn't get the knack of swinging the bat, no matter how many quarters I put in the batting machine. This time, in spite of a great effort by all, they lost the championship game and came in second. Feigning disappointment he once again proclaimed his retirement from baseball and settled into a summer of leisure and loafing around. Third year's the charm...right?!? Well, I had my hopes and something happened that really surprised me. During one particularly painful game wherein the pitcher seemed to think he had taken up bowling, the coach called upon my son to pitch. Now this was completely foreign to him and he had no desire to be in the limelight out on the pitchers mound. Well low and behold, his first pitch is a strike, then another and three for the out. Batter after batter could not touch the ball even though I thought I could have walked to the plate faster than my son was throwing. He ended up retiring all the batters he faced and they ended up winning the game....he was the hero. So surely having such an experience would cement his love for the game and propel him on a successful career as a Little League pitcher. Alas, even after a few more outings with similar success, the end of the season came and he once again proclaimed, "I hate baseball!". We returned to the U.S. shortly thereafter and I once again encouraged him to take up a sport. One night, he arrives home disheveled, caked in mud and bleeding from his mouth. "Son, what happened to you? You're bleeding!", I exclaimed. "I am?", he responded and quickly made his way to the bathroom mirror. When I went to check on him, I see not shock or fear but a sinister grin. That's when I discover the sport he loves.....RUGBY!!!!