There aren’t too many things that can turn grown men into 10 year boys like Wiffle Ball. I played my share as a kid growing up, much to my mother’s dismay at the worn spots for the pitcher mound and batter’s box in the yard. It took years for the grass to fill back in. Playing away games against the kids on the street behind us meant adjusting to the telephone foul pole in right center and homeruns any time the ball went over the line. Their field was a dead pull field for right handed batters with the Elm tree marking the other foul pole and the warning track made up of the entire brick street.
When I started at EDS I was working in south Jersey . It was there that I met a local by the name of Ken C, who was ‘Jersey Shore ’ long before there was a alcohol fueled TV show. Ken wasn’t lacking confidence as he self declared, “Chicks dig me!”. That attitude was pretty pronounced in his group of friends who together made the weekend migration to the shore house, where the side yard, garbage cans and the street made up their field of dreams. The testosterone levels of that atmosphere made watching the wise option for that particular Wiffle Ball field.
Here are a couple of Wiffle ball treats to kickoff your holiday weekend.
George, thanks for the great lead on this subject and this article in particular.
I’m more than jealous at the following video. The content, style, editing and musical accompaniment is simply perfect. I thought about digitally editing out the Yankee and Braves logos, but MLB frowned on those potential alterations.
Do yourself a favor, turn off the TV, put down your new Touchpad and take the kids outside and teach them the fine art of making up rules local to your field of dreams. Good luck trying to hit the sinking curve ball this weekend.