As I watched Trot kick a soccer ball halfway across a baseball infield at practice tonight while his coach blew his whistle like he was trying to stop traffic, I had an epiphany. Or a mini stroke. Not really clear yet, but you get the point.
There is no way, and the Rock means NO WAY I could ever coach him in any athletic endeavor. Until he gets to the point he's not asking his coach about the moon or asking him why his belly was so big or shouting "Hi YAH!" every time he kicked the ball (all three of which happened tonight, by the way.) it's all I can do not to run onto the field and promptly tie him to the goal.
I could care less if he scores a point at this juncture. I just want him to stand still and listen for once. To be fair, Ciera and Rakes spoiled me. Ciera has always gone along to get along and Rakes is so competitive he wants to do well, even if it means knocking down some old lady who happens to get in his way while he's maniacally running through the frozen foods section at Food Lion.
Trot? Well, imagine what Manny Ramirez was like playing little league as a child.
Then give Manny ADD, a pre-disposition to urinating in public, and a voice that the guy who used to host "Soul Train" would envy and THEN give him a pair of shin guards and cleats and all I can say is Good Luck.
His coach is half-way to Sainthood already, and the first game isn't until Saturday.
Surrender the Farmhouse Sink
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