No. 63 -- Crash. Reset. New Aircraft

Every time I pick up the control box for my RealFlight RC flight simulator, I think of my dad.

When he was sick, he passed a lot of time by working on a HUGE RC Piper Cub. This sucker was massive, and while I'm pretty sure he never actually flew it due to his health, he tried to do the next best thing and use RealFlight to simulate the experience.

My dad and I never had a lot in common, but that was something over which we could connect. When I visited him, it never took long to make my way to the computer to open the RealFlight program. Both he and my brother Doug made fun of me for not being able to land a plane ... and flying a helicopter? That was absolutely out of the question. Within seconds, I would always crash.

While Dad and Doug gave me a hard time about not being able to land, I absolutely gave it right back to my father.

Hey, Dad, I would begin. Remember that time you demolished that plane you spent so much time and money on?

Yeah? What about it?

I would start a new journey on RealFlight and right away spiral it into the ground.

Watch this.

Clicking the reset button on the control box, a brand-new aircraft would immediately appear on the screen.

Crash. Reset. New aircraft. 

Crash. Reset. New aircraft.

Crash. Reset. New aircraft.

He laughed.

After picking up a copy of RealFlight for my own computer, I'm now able to land an airplane on the runway ... most of the time. And helicopters? I'm still no pro ... but for your viewing pleasure ... I present to you the results of a lot of practice.

I typically fly a Huey, because that's the bird on which Dad flew so often in Vietnam. This isn't the prettiest flight you'll ever see, but ... hey ... I didn't crash.

This one's for you, Dad.

No. 62 -- Don't Look Back

We've had a little bit of an event today, and I'm not sure Jeanie has recovered yet.

The boys started sixth grade last week, and Adam's homeroom teacher is also the head soccer coach at the local high school. He gets kids from his class to serve as ball boys, so, of course, Adam was the first to sign up. He was allllllll over it.

Jeanie took him to the high school for the varsity and junior varsity games ... and he promptly took off for the field, without ever once looking back. He left Jeanie standing, and not only that, but he left her standing at the high school.

Ouch. I don't think Adam and Jesse are little boys any more.

No. 61 -- Adam Gets Jiggy

This, in a nutshell, is Adam.

No. 60 -- Boo

I don't think many things will ever mean as much to me as seeing Adam cry as we left Coleman Field in Cary, N.C. yesterday.

Let me explain.

Since Tuesday, I've been covering the NCAA Division II baseball championship tournament for NCAA.com. It's been a blast seeing the game played the way it's supposed to be played, with no money on the line. Best of all, Adam was able to spend Wednesday through Friday here with me.

Lord, did that kid have a ball. Actually, he had at least eight balls ... seven foul balls that he chased down or had tossed to him and a brand-new one given to him by an off-duty umpire who wondered into the press tent. He kept four of the gamers -- plus the new one that he got signed by former Boston Red Sox pitcher Dave "Boo" Ferris.

That's us with Coach Ferris, an absolute legend for the Fighting Okra of Delta State University. I can only hope I make it to 90, much less have as much left in the gas tank as Coach Ferris. 

Adam gave one of the baseballs away to a grandfather of a kid playing for Catawba College and another to the dad of a Delta State player. Yet another went to a kid who had a foul ball he was chasing take a bad hop and go to another youngster.

But he had a game to play himself tonight, so I took him back home yesterday. He didn't want to go, and if you want to know the honest truth, I didn't really want him to go, either. When we left the motel room yesterday morning, he actually made me leave first so he could take one last look around his kingdom for the last couple of nights.

Then, when we left the park yesterday, he cried.

I'm not going to have many chances to make as big an impression on him as I did here this week, and now that I'm back at the ballpark for tonight's national championship game, there seems to be something missing.

There is something missing. My assistant.

No. 59 -- Me And My Shadow

This post is presented without commentary ...

No. 58 -- Fussin' At The Ballgame

I darn near started a riot tonight.

For those of you who know me, you know that 999,999 times out of 1,000,000, I'm as mild-mannered as they come. But flip that switch -- and I can count on the fingers of both hands the times in my life that it's happened -- and I get truly angry. Tonight was one of those nights.

For the last several years, I've been helping coach Adam's baseball team. We were getting a no-hitter pitched against us tonight and they were scoring a lot of runs. That's fine. That stuff happens. The son of the other team's head coach hit a shot back to the pitcher's mound, and our guy made an amazing diving stop. I still don't know exactly how he came up with the ball.

After making the stop, though, he threw the ball over the first baseman's head. Safe. That's fine. That stuff happens. But this is where it got ... well ... interesting.

The other team's coach marched to the third-base line and started berating his son for not hustling down the line to first base. The kid was safe and we were getting trounced already, but he wasn't quick enough to suit his father. The guy was screaming, just like he did last year when he shoved -- yes, shoved -- his son into the dugout after walking a couple of our guys.

Did you hustle?!? 

Did you hustle?!?

 And before I knew it ... before I had a chance to fully consider what I was going to do or say ... I was screaming right back at him from our dugout. 

He was safe! Now shut up!

I think I surprised him. I know I surprised myself. He yelled back and said that he was just trying to get some effort out of his player. A woman on their side of the field shouted that if we had better coaching, we might win a game once in a while. A few on our side of the field started firing right back. His third-base coach told me to mind my own business, that they would coach their team and that I should worry about coaching mine. Good point. But in that particular instance, the way their team was being coached stunk.

To be honest, I respect the fact that their team knew exactly what to do with the ball when they got it. They fielded like Gold Glovers. Some of the balls they hit traveled so far that they should've had flight attendants. But for the sin of not hustling, this one kid got screamed at by his coach.

And the coach was his own father.

Here's the deal. I love Adam with every ounce of my being, but if he inherited even a fraction of my athletic ability, he'll be lucky to run to first base without tripping over his own feet. That said, I also love Jesse with all my heart and he couldn't care less if he ever attends another sporting event, much less plays in one.

Should the kid have run to first as hard as he could? Sure, he should have. But if the effort wasn't there, the time and place for correction was in the dugout, out of earshot of his teammates and certainly everybody else who happened to be at the game. There was no good reason whatsoever to show the kid up like that. The young man may make the major leagues some day, and he may not. My hope is that he enjoys the game.

Adam had the last word on the matter after we got home. He came up to me and hugged me as hard as he could.

Dad, he said, I'm glad you don't act like that guy.

That's good enough for me..

No. 57

It seems that Jeanie doesn't want to go out to eat because she's already hunkered down for the night. She's taken her makeup off, brushed her hair out and broke out the ol' sweatpants.

The rest of us have voted for Mexican -- no surprise there, we always vote for Mexican -- and she still doesn't want to go because, in her words, she'll "have to get fixed up again." As always, Adam came up with a solution.

C'mon, Momma. Just go like you are. People have seen you lookin' funky before.