Baseball is not a game a kid just picks up all of a sudden. It takes intense focus and preparation.

Intense focus and preparation is not normally found in your average 5-year-old.

The importance of having fun is paramount in the t-ball experience. Winning comes later.

When a coach is asked by another coach, "So, how's your team doing this year?", if the coach's response is "We're sure having a lot of fun," I think we all know it's been a long, tough year.

T-ball coaches cannot teach concentration.

T-ball coaches are really just playground monitors.

The infield dirt on a t-ball field is watered regularly so that the next team’s infielders have a clean place to perform their cartwheels and somersaults.

The five most often repeated phrases by parents attending a t-ball game are:

-- "Go, go, go, go, go"

-- "No, no, no, no, no"

-- "Run, run, run, run, run"

-- "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop."

-- And "Why didn't you go to the bathroom before we left home?"

The second most special thing in life is watching your small child participate in a sports activity with other small children, all of whom are working toward a common team goal and having a good time achieving it.

The most special thing in life is a phone call out of the blue from the t-ball coach saying practice has been cancelled and you have nothing to do that night.

If there are phone calls to be made by the coach regarding a change of game time, none of the team parents will ever be home on the first call and their answering machines will have been turned off.

April showers bring May make-up games.

The five most often repeated phrases by coaches at a t-ball game are:

-- "Nice cut, big guy."

-- "Keep your eye on the ball, buddy"

-- "Swing level, slugger."

-- "Yes, I know we have a girl on the team, Billy,"

-- And, "Why didn't you go to the bathroom before you left home, Samantha?"

The Louisville Rule: If a boy stands under a bat that is hanging up on the links of the dugout fence, the bat will fall squarely upon that player’s head, resulting in momentarily excruciating pain.

Less than one minute after a player has been hit upon the head by a bat that fell from a fence, he will be turning cartwheels in the infield dirt and asking to go to the bathroom.

This is West Texas. The wind blows a whole lot. T-ball caps should be optional.

On at least one occasion during the season, every member of a t-ball team will put their caps on backwards and untuck their shirt. Thank you, Ken Griffey, Jr.

The Lost Water Bottle Theorem: On at least five occasions during the t-ball season, a child will report to the game without all of his/her equipment or uniform because they are unable to locate it at home.

On every one of those occasions, the return home after the game will produce one certainty: The lost equipment/uniform parts will be laying in the middle of the child's floor, under nothing. (When sent on a mission to find things that have been misplaced, children are suddenly, mysteriously rendered incapable of lowering their neck and, as a result, do nothing but stare straight ahead, repeatedly stepping over whatever item they are trying to find.)

The five-most often repeated exchanges at a t-ball game between 5-year-olds and their coaches:

-- "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Yes, but on your way out would you mind tagging that guy running to second?"

-- "Where's first base?"

"According to the rule book, it's 90 feet down there, but just run until you trip over that big white thing."

-- "Can I bat first?"

"No, you're eighth, so you have plenty of time to go to the bathroom. This inning. You can even lolly-gag while you’re there."

-- "Where's my glove, coach?"

"Probably on your bedroom floor like it is at our house."

-- "Here coach, catch this one ...Oops, little low. You OK, coach? Coach? Say something, coach. Mommy? I think I hurt coach."

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