I had quite a history with baseball in my younger years. As a kid I listened to pro games on the radio, never saw one in person, I don't recall. When we moved to Paradise, CA I joined the Babe Ruth league and became an all-star first baseman.

I had a great arm, I could throw anybody out from any angle. As life moved on beyond High School I was heading out of Sacramento one day to try out with the Giants down in Arizona, when my grand-father died and I turned around. My baseball dreams died with him.

As Riley grew up in the South Seattle area, he loved baseball. We played catch every day and I attended all of his games. One day I wondered over to his practice and I volunteered to smack line drives out to the infield. I worked those kids hard for a half hour without swinging through a ball.

Life moved on from those days and I lost all interest in the game. I haven't watched a pro game on TV in decades.

The reason I mention all of this is that yesterday I was walking along the creek and hundreds of walnuts had fallen to the ground. I picked one up and tried to through it across the creek. My right arm is so fucked up I felt like a two year old trying to throw a ball to his dad.

I have no mobility there anymore, I can't wind up and let her rip like I used to. Quite frankly I'm glad nobody was there to see that as the walnut landed lamely in the middle of the creek.