The setting sun - Shawn's Sense with Shawn Loughlin

The other day I had a realization. Right now, baseball teams are in Florida and Arizona for spring training and, soon enough, the season will start. I’m not a player on any of those teams, of course, but I got to thinking that, unless I act fast, I am unlikely to fulfill my dream of catching a foul ball while holding my infant child.

 

This is an obscure dream, to be sure, but one I hold nonetheless. It’s not that I’ll be aging out of eligibility for this one, it’s that my kids are. Tallulah is almost four, so, unless she’s in need of a hug or a snuggle, she’s past that age for the most part. Cooper just turned one and, despite his gigantic man-baby stature, I still have some time with him. But a lot of things have to go right for it to happen. First, we have to be at a baseball game. Second, a foul ball has to be hit close enough to me that I could reasonably catch it (that’s only happened a few times in my life and I’ve attended dozens of games all over North America in that time). And, obviously, third, I’d have to catch it. 

 

So, as the sun sets on this dream (perhaps - if anyone has babies and baseball tickets they want to send my way, I’m listening) it got me thinking about other obscure pipe dreams that, for one reason or another, have set sail.

 

I suppose a reasonable place to start is the second installment of one such disappointment in that I will not make a 40 under 40 list. The sting of this one is a bit easier to handle after its precursor realization 10 years earlier that I would not make a 30 under 30 list. Hogwash!

 

If there’s a 50 under 50 list that you think I just might qualify for with minimal or no real change to my day-to-day routine, please e-mail me at editor@northhuron.on.ca. I want to hear about it and then get what’s mine.

 

A lot of these are turning out to be related to my age, which is a bit of a bummer, but, what can you do? Sometimes when I sit down to write this column, I have a clear beginning, middle and end, while other times I just wing it. I’ll leave it to you to decide which this is.

 

Unless I discover a real knack for something like curling or golf, I guess my dreams of being a professional athlete have been officially dashed. Some weirdos call poker a sport, so that could be another option.

 

So, that’s the depressing bit, I suppose. A list of all the things I won’t be able to do now for one reason or another. But, as Eric Idle always taught us to do, let’s all look on the bright side of life and think about what’s still ahead.

 

Writing! I am a writer after all, so there are all kinds of things that I’ll be capable of writing. Writing the great Canadian first-person account of catching a foul ball while holding your kid won’t be among them, but let’s not let that dampen our enthusiasm.

 

I won’t go all The Chaff: The Play on you, but I could write a play for the Blyth Festival. (Do you know that Artistic Director Gil Garratt texted our very own Scott Stephenson with a picture of literal chaff after that column? As we all know, that represents a legally-binding contract to produce a play. Why you haven’t seen that play yet is a matter that’s before the courts and, as a result, I can’t speak any further about it. Refer any questions to our lawyers.)

 

Anyway, I could write a play. (Denny and I had kicked around the idea of somewhat of an autobiographical play about being reporters in a small town not that unlike Blyth. We didn’t really get much of anywhere. We lacked story and writing sessions were very alcohol-fueled - all of the best writing sessions always are.)

 

So, yeah, a play, the great Canadian novel. As for nabbing a foul ball, it might be up to Tallulah or Coop while holding a geriatric me.