Why I'm Returning to the League
I want to spend less time with my family.
New writer alert! Rob Loomis is from Massachusetts, but lives in Turkey. His work can be found in Points in Case, Slackjaw, and Little Old Lady Comedy, among others.
To the league, my teammates, and, most of all, my fans: I’m coming back for season 18!
I know it was just a few months ago when I called that fateful press conference and declared it was time to hang up my jersey. I said goodbye to the game that has been my life for as long as I can remember. I told the cameras that I couldn’t have wished for a better career: one championship, three All-Star games. But I was tired. I felt it was time to spend more time with my wife and kids.
Now, just weeks away from pre-season, I want to retract that statement. Fatherhood is vastly overrated. Obviously, I’d spent time with my family during the offseason and before home games over the years. But all day, every day with my kids? I had NO IDEA.
I’ve been trying to think of a sports analogy, and this is what I came up with. Parenting is like being caught between second and third base. You’re in a pickle. Frozen, inert. Turn in one direction, and your oldest will be coloring on your pillowcases with a red Sharpie. Run the other way, and you’ll see your youngest eating cat litter. Eventually, you give up, exhausted, and just let it happen. You’re out.
I mean, seriously, who knew that “time with the wife and kids” meant so much stacking blocks and “Wheels on the Bus!”
I know a lot of you are wondering: Does he still have it? Can he get back to peak form? Are there more awards and highlight reels in store?
Honestly, I doubt it. I’m planning to settle in as “bench cheerleader.” I’ll high-five the starters and scream borderline-problematic insults at opposing players. I’ll do the odd press conference invoking “hustle.” Maybe I’ll even “accidentally” leak nude pictures for press attention—if that’s what my team needs. I’m just looking forward to a hotel room to myself, clean sheets, and nothing sticky to step on.
Don’t get me wrong. I know that even the most anonymous benchwarmers fight tooth and nail for their spot on the team. I probably won’t last the whole season. But my agent has already made calls to teams abroad. I’ve always wanted to travel, and I’m only ruling out Canada, Ireland, and the British Isles. Too close to my home in New York. I told him I’m especially open to any league in Southeast Asia, though.
I’m also in conversation with a few teams about working on the business side of things. You know those guys with the t-shirt guns? Or that old man who travels the country, doing tricks with a Chihuahua and a unicycle during the halftime show? Anything like that would be great.
You might be curious what my wife thinks about this. A wonderful woman. A saint, in fact. But apparently, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or so she tells me. Over and over again lately.
So, here I am. Ball is my life… for the next 15 years…
MORE FROM CHORTLE
Talking to a Bank Alarm Like It's My Toddler
The biggest heist of my career is almost finished. One last job before I retire to a private island. But then—of course—the alarm blows.
Forgotten Baseball Nicknames, Explained
Baseball has spawned some great nicknames over the decades: The Sultan of Swat. The Splendid Splinter. Joltin' Joe. All legendary. But few people realize that many of MLB’s most obscure mediocrities had nicknames just as colorful as those.
 | A guest post by
|
In your case, I'd recommend mascotting. This way, there's no danger of your family coming to the arena and accidentally recognizing you.