Cindy

Droog

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September 24, 2007

Watch Where You Throw That Baseball; It Might Break My Project!

There are a couple of television shows that are considered non-negotiable at my house.

Thanks to my husband, whose high school nickname was “The Senator,” one of them is “Hardball with Chris Matthews”. The other is baseball. Clearly, we have a thing for objects that can be caught and thrown.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to us a few weekends ago when our 14-month-old son, for whom I’d just purchased an official major league baseball, threw his very first pitch right at our television. The best part was that we were watching baseball at the time and a real batter was up at the plate. I’ve never seen our son so excited. He was yelling and squealing as if he’d just personally struck out Tony Pena.

It was hard not to laugh. I’d given him the ball. What did I expect? He was only doing what he’d seen others do, and he was so proud of himself.

I think The Senator, on the other hand, had an anxiety attack right before my very eyes. Bulging eyes. Breathing stopped. Not the television! It was like he’d been personally hit by a 95-mph fastball himself. He was speechless for a minute, and then, all he could say was, “Honey, have you ever heard of Nerf?”

While I share his fondness for our television, especially with the Cleveland Indians being in the playoffs this year, what was top of mind for me was something a little more delicate and a little less replaceable.

Our son’s baby brother, who is going to be here in eight short weeks.  

I know they’re boys. I know they’ll throw things at each other. But my son seems too young to understand that throwing a hard, fast object isn’t any different from say, chucking a sock. So when baby brother comes home from the hospital, it’s not a matter of if, but when and what, something will get thrown at him.

To prepare for the inevitable, I thought about channeling my 12-year-old junior high self. Each year, before kickball week in gym class, I’d practice my catching and blocking skills. Then I realized – channeling the past isn’t necessary when throwing hard balls, and catching and blocking aren’t any different from working day-to-day in a corporate environment.

It’s just like that big project. Someone threw it at you. You have an unrealistic deadline to get your part done, so they can have six months to do their part. You don’t complain. You’re the starting pitcher, and that’s what you get paid for. Or, perhaps you’re the 14-month-old who just doesn’t know any better. In my case, it’s usually somewhere in between.

Still, it feels good to make the catch. And it feels even better to throw it to the next person. You have your corporate equivalent of Gold Glove winners, those who perform consistently and who you can turn your project over to without fear. Then, you have the error-ridden, who in most corporate environments, end up in other jobs or gone.

But then, you have your coworkers that are similar to my son, only they should know better. Do they think to themselves, “I wonder what will happen if I toss this, overhand, straight at a television screen?” They seem to enjoy the shattering and the awe amongst their teams that this creates. Some admire their skills to throw nearly every project off track because it’s 90 – not 99 – percent of the way there. Others hate them with a passion.

As for me, when this kind of job stress gets to me, I go back to my son and to baseball. Everybody can throw a baseball. Even a baby. Not at 90 miles an hour. Not straight. And definitely not into the waiting hands of the catcher, also known as Mommy. But he can throw it.

And my coworkers and me, well, we can throw, too. We aren’t always the strategic equivalent of the New York Yankees. If we were, we might be making some of their salaries. But we’re all making a living doing what we do. Sometimes, we’ll throw one right down the middle, and our competitors will be caught looking. Sometimes, we’ll hand them the game with walks, errors and wild pitches.

For the most part, I figure if we can avoid breaking our own televisions or permanently marring our baby brothers along the way, I have to believe we’ll be all right.

© 2007 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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