Are You Ready for Some Baseball?!

Our 11-year-old nephew Tatum, who had never played organized sports of any kind before, chose to play baseball with his local little league in Grantsville. And he ended up having a wonderful experience. It was fun to go to a few of his games and cheer for his team, the Royals.

The first game of the season, which we attended, was on Saturday, April 12:

This other one was held on Tuesday, May 20:

The Royals won both of those games! In fact, they won their league championship. Plus, we had snow cones to snack on both times, which was like the icing on the cake.

Are You Ready for Some Tee Ball?!

Last week, we went up to the baseball fields at Mueller Park Jr. High to watch Kate and Graham play tee ball with their team. Because why not? This is the kind of thing your resident Fun Aunt and Uncle do with regularity.

Kate's and Graham's team just happens to be the Cubs---an MLB franchise I've been a fan of for decades. I already had the team hat, so I wore it to the game. Also, it was wonderful to see any kind of live sports in person for the first time in months.

Did the Cubs win their game? I honestly don't know. I don't think score was kept. The kids hit and ran the bases a lot and didn't do too much fielding, but they had a great time playing. When you're four and five years old, I guess competition really isn't that big of a deal.

Bees'-Eye View

On Thursday night, JB and I ventured out to Smith's Ballpark in Salt Lake City for our second Bees baseball game of the month and of the summer. We were more than happy to accept an invitation from Dave, who works for the Larry H. Miller business empire and was given tickets to access the company suite for the evening. Jessica, Kira, and Jake joined us for our evening out.

Friends in high places, amirite? It's nice and also rare to get such royal treatment. Not only did we have a nice view of the game from the first-base side of the diamond, but our suite was also stocked with a dinner that included chicken tenders, soda pop, popcorn, and other goodies.

The home team got killed once again---we must have that effect on them or something. But it was nonetheless a fun night for one and all.

Our Night Out with Jake

Birthday dinners with our niblings have sort of become a thing of the past since JB and I got married. At least, we decided we'd give our niblings the option for their birthdays of either doing an activity together with us or getting a present they really want to have.

Jake, who turns 14 years old next month, chose to go to a Salt Lake Bees AAA baseball game with us, and that took us Smith's Ballpark in SLC Tuesday night for their matchup with the San Antonio Missions (the Milwaukee Brewers' AAA club).

The game started out very poorly for the Bees (and very slowly for us); the Missions scored six runs in the top of the first, and SL's starting pitcher was forced out of the game after only 1/3 inning of pitching. By the end of that first half-inning of play, the game was already a half-hour old. Nevertheless, the Bees bounced back by chipping away at the lead, including hitting two home runs. San Antonio still ended up winning, 7-5.

Well, it's still fun being at the ball game and seeing one live in one of the best parks in the country. Our nephew had a good time, most importantly. We snacked on peanuts and popcorn while we watched the action on the field. We also had very good seats, sitting behind home plate.

It was a fun night out with a great kid, and we're looking forward to maybe attending more games over the summer.

Weekend in Midway

JB and I have now made it a whole year as a married couple!

To celebrate our first anniversary together, we went out of town for the weekend to stay at the lovely Zermatt resort up in Midway (our original destination for our honeymoon before I got laryngitis and JB injured her back). While we were there, we also ventured to nearby Park City to tour the Utah Olympic Park, which was one of the highlights of the trip for us both.

The Olympic museum contains many interesting and interactive displays, including this game in which we had to balance a marble on its downhill skiing run:

Outside, we took a look at the snowboarding jumps:

After this, we went on a guided tour of the bobsled, luge, and skeleton runs farther up on the hillside via bus.

At the top, we got this eagle-eye view of the ski jump:

It's a heckuva view, and it was mind-boggling to think of the many athletes who have run these courses with a level of fearlessness I do not possess.

Bro Night at Scary Hill

Friday night, we (meaning Ben, Jeff, and I) gathered up at Cherry Hill for some mini-golf for our latest Bro Night. Because we are cool, hip, and trendy like that. Also, JB and some of the sisters-in-law had their own Sis Night recently, and we wanted to get in on the trend.

Cherry Hill was decked up as "Scary Hill" on this cool October evening, and the people there went all out in decorating the place very nicely for the Halloween season.

As far as the actual mini-golfing went, both Ben and Jeff mopped the floor with me. Admittedly, my mini-golf game has slipped a little bit. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable evening out.

Attack of the Killjoys

Me: Hello, my name is Paco.
Crowd: Hi, Paco!
Me: . . . and it's been three weeks since I was last an obnoxious killjoy.

Maybe it's not quite that extreme, but I imagine we've all been in the position in which we've either been the killjoy or been the one annoyed or saddened by someone else being a killjoy about something that brings us . . . well, for lack of a better word, joy.

Admittedly, one of the unfortunate tendencies I still struggle with is that of trying to come across as being snarky, witty, and cute rather than being nice or, even better, saying nothing at all when something that brings someone else happiness, but does nothing at all for me, is expressed or mentioned. It can be a very fine line, and sometimes I do not realize that I've crossed it until it is too late.

While social media has many positives, it also exacerbates the problem of the killjoy.

One of the ground rules of improv, and it applies here, is that you never sell out a teammate for a cheap joke. Though it may generate a chuckle or two, it ultimately damages team cohesion and makes you, well, a weenie. This is what the killjoy does.

It is a rule that applies to improv, and likewise it most certainly applies to friendship.

I remember a specific conversation not that long ago when I found myself caught in this trap, after which I pimp-slapped myself emotionally for my thoughtlessness. Comic-Con, or one of those other similar cosplay events was approaching, and a friend mentioned how excited she was that one of her favorite actors was scheduled to appear. I muttered something about how I (KILLJOY ALERT) "can't stand" this particular person.


If this friend happens to be reading this, and you can recall me being a jerkface on this occasion, I hope you'll accept my apologies. Or, let's talk about it in person sometime, and I'll buy you an ice cream.

The whole Pokémon Go thing, for example, did nothing and does nothing for me. Animé as a whole I find uninteresting and unappealing in basically every way. Nevertheless, this has been one of the things about which I can pat myself on the back and say, "Good for you. It's not your thing, but you weren't a killjoy about this." I've enjoyed seeing family members and friends post their Pokémon Go photos and tell their stories about going out hunting for Pokémons here and there and having a great time doing so. I've been geocaching before, which I'm told is somewhat similar to this craze, and I loved the experience of doing that.

Not being a killjoy does not connote agreement; it just means not being "that guy" that no one likes, who pooh-poohs something you love to do.

And so, my friends, please don't let any of the times I've been a killjoy stop you from pursuing your dreams, creating your creations, writing your plays, singing your songs, drawing your drawings, dancing your dances, and above all fanboy your fanboy-ing stuff. (Is that a verb? It is now.) Not that you need my permission.

We all have a compelling story to tell, and while some of us do it through blogging, others do it in other ways. Embrace and enjoy your Pokémon Go, travel, cosplay, concerts, photography, favorite sitcoms, articles you read and found interesting, sports, "Doctor Who," Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Whatsit hobbies. Or what-have-you. Meanwhile, I hope you'll continue to encourage me to do the same in my own way. Thank you for being patient and understanding with me during those times when I slip. It's what friends do.

However, if you're going to make an inordinate number of status updates or post several dozen photos of yourself doing these things to clog up my feeds on Facebook, Instagram, and the like, we might be having a different conversation.

Ping Pong for Doubles

I follow the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles both in life (or at least I try to) and also on more than one social media format. In addition to putting out some of the best posts/tweets on the Internet, these 15 men are almost as popular as Kim Kardashian, by which I mean, having done some quick math, that they have collectively acquired one-sixteenth the number of her followers.

Earlier this week, Elder D. Todd Christofferson tweeted:

"Others will feel our love and Heavenly Father's love when we remember them. A letter, a text message, or a phone call can be a blessing."

I'm not smart enough to figure out how to take a screen cap and then post the actual tweet here, so I copied the message just now in case you don't also follow Elder Christofferson. But seriously, follow him.

I share that message with you today because it leads me into an addendum to my previous post here on Paco Nation—you know, one of those "extremely lengthy posts" that people who haven't actually read this blog think I post on a regular basis.

As a follow-up to that post: Ladies, we men don't speak your language. We speak a language all our own, in fact, and it's filled with stuff like sports, Star Wars, video games, and action/sci-fi movie terminology. It's an XY chromosome thing, really.

Collectively speaking, we also don't often get the hints that are dropped our way by the female gender and need to be told things directly in case you'd like to get a message across that you might like to do something socially with us. (This is something called flirting.) By the same token, many of us males have faced rejection so many times, especially by the Misfit Toys age, that we frequently cannot tell whether someone we're interested in romantically either shares an interest back or just can't play ping pong.

What do I mean by ping pong, you ask? I use the term here as taught to me by my mission president, Carlos Cuba, years ago. In this sense, ping pong is when you carry on a conversation with or teach a discussion to people by saying something to them, then listening intently while they speak, and then you speak again, and so on, thus taking turns bouncing the ball back and forth over the net, figuratively speaking, as you are both uplifted and edified together.

In the dating scene, then, I see the metaphor of ping pong being played out not with words only but with gestures, too. For example, if one person takes the initiative and asks out someone else, and they both have a great time, then the person who was asked out could—going back to Elder Christofferson's tweet now—send a text to the person who did the asking out as thanks for a fun evening. Letters and phone calls seem to be somewhat passé now, so a text may be your best bet.

From the perspective of a guy who does a majority of the asking out in his own dating experience, I can't tell you how nice it is to get a text like this after a date has concluded. It makes me feel appreciated and helps to dispel some of my insecurities about myself. Better still, if the lady then takes the initiative and strikes up a conversation with me the next time we're in the same room together, be it at church or elsewhere, she is showing that she knows how to play ping pong indeed, and the gesture shows that further interest is there. It makes things easier for both of us going forward. Then, on the following encounter, it's your turn again to start up a conversation, or you might send a text to say you're thinking about her, or whatever; this is how ping pong keeps working. Some kind of positive daily contact is wonderful—to use another mission metaphor.

Likewise, I have felt rather crestfallen on those occasions when a girl I really liked sent me no text message (nor something else akin to it) after a date nor really spoke to me the next time I saw her. On those occasions, a message is sent indirectly, and it reads: she's either not interested or doesn't play ping pong, and I'm not smart enough to know the difference.

When you're interested in a person who either doesn't know how to play ping pong or doesn't want to, well, it turns out to just one person bouncing the ball around, and that gets either boring or frustrating after a while, and you quickly lose interest in the game.

Some of you who are well versed already in ping pong may wonder why I even bring up this topic. Perhaps it is because in my time on the Island of Misfit Toys, I've found a surprising number of those in my dating pool who have not actually been in a committed relationship prior to their 30s. I'm always very floored when I learn this about some of those I've taken out, because these people are in no way unattractive or uninteresting. But nevertheless they exist, and they often are not familiar with the rules of ping pong, and a familiarity with ping pong helps both players to play the game far better than they would if they were not aware of the rules.

And the rules are really pretty simple when you break them down.

Mob Violence

Editor's note: With today's post, I don't mean in any way to downplay or ignore any of the actual serious problems of intolerance of the past nor those so prevalent in the world right now, such as actual bigotry or war or the chaos the ensues from drawing, say, a cartoon of a prominent religious figure. Today's post is not mean to take that tone nor to equate the following examples in any way, shape, or form with actual struggles of the oppressed and the persecuted. It's intended to have a lighter, more satiric tone than what would be required to address any one of the above issues.

Thank you.

It's a good thing we've left behind the intolerant, ignorant, and barbaric ways of the past, isn't it? Modern-day prophets aren't tarred and feathered like poor Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon were in the early days of the Church in 19th-century Ohio. We don't have to worry about witch trials or Red Scares or even the Spanish Inquisition, either.

Yes, mob violence is a thing of the distant past . . . right?

'Tain't necessarily so, though. Mob mentality still exists. It creeps even into social situations.

Consider the following scenarios, perhaps at a social gathering near you anytime soon:

 - Getting people at a party to agree on which pizza toppings should go on the pizza. You will never get people to agree on this issue—ever.

 - By the same token, getting people to agree on which DVD will be shown at a party—which is the main reason why I tend to avoid these types of gatherings like the plague. Likewise, you will never get people to agree on this. (However, if you tell me in advance exactly what movie is going to be shown, then I can make an informed decision. Either way, people will likely end up asleep on the couch or not talking to each other in way or another, and I'll skip it regardless.)

 - Playing the party game "Mafia," which 100% of the time leads to hurt feelings among friends.

 - Posting an unpopular opinion on a social media site, and then watching the fallout. (Egad!) Or on a blog. (I would never, though.)

Scary stuff.

Gratitude amid Chaos

During my travels out on the streets today, I saw something that affected me deeply. It is an image that has haunted me all day long. And I expect it will be in my thoughts for months, if not years, to come.

It was something that I caught a glimpse of for only about three or four seconds, because as much as we like to rubberneck and stare at things that have gone boom out there on the roads, traffic, like the show, must go on.

What I saw was several different things going on at once: At the scene of a car accident, where one vehicle had collided violently into another, a half-block or so from where I pulled from a parking lot out onto the street to head the opposite direction, a person lay there, motionless, on the ground. A paramedic was performing CPR, working frantically over the motionless person, while another obviously emotionally distressed family member or friend sat inconsolably nearby, being attended by another medical professional. It all happened right out there on the asphalt, in the middle of the street. A police officer, I believe, was working to restore order where there was, for the moment, chaos.

There but for fortune, as the old saying goes, that person lying there helpless could have been you or me or any one of us. Sometimes, it feels like we're stuck in a game of dodgeball, and the ball can strike indiscriminately and without regard for who you are or where in your journey you're at—literally or figuratively.

I said a little prayer for that helpless person, the grieving family member, and those who rushed to aid. I hope the scene ended better than how I left it. Which was all any bystander could do at that moment.

I am grateful for the reminder of what is really important here in this mortal existence—to see people giving their very best like that in a moment when fate had handed someone one of life's worst blows. I'm grateful for people who respond to calls like that, doing a job under enormous pressure that I could never, ever do.

It's a roundabout way of saying it, but amid all of the junk and click bait and jokes and memes and everything else that clutters up our collective online experience, I take this little space in which I write tonight to express gratitude for the good, the bad, and the ugly that can make up this mortal existence. If we can recognize the lessons when they are presented to us, they can help us to keep it all in perspective, to grow, and to be grateful to the Lord for the journey. I remain grateful at the close of this day for one day more above the ground. I am grateful for the many the Lord has placed in my life at this time who bless my existence in countless ways.

Above all, I'm just grateful.

Shootin' Hoops with Jackson

My six-year-old nephew and buddy Jackson and I enjoyed a night out together this week at the local McDonald's. Dinner was followed by entertainment, which included watching him crawl into the basketball hoop area and blocking (goaltending) the shots of all of the other kids who joined in on the fun.

Retaking the Trophy

Who has two thumbs and recently recaptured the family league fantasy football trophy?

This guy.