Watching sports is one of the things we, as a family, enjoy in our travel through our time on this good earth.
Before I married my farmer husband, however, I knew next to nothing about sports. Farming I knew. Sports? Not so much. You either join in or get left behind, and I chose to join in and my life was made richer because of it.
During the first years of our marriage, whenever the Packers played on Sunday afternoons, it was like I downed a sedative. Sprawled out on our couch, I’d blissfully snooze the last two quarters away.
Over the years I’ve morphed into a diehard Packer fan. In order to watch when we’re both ready, we usually tape games (and have the side benefit of fast-forwarding commercials).
Our kids took to sports. It was their dad’s heart’s desire for our kids to play ball, as he did as a youngster and into adulthood with BABA ball in Leopolis. It was each one’s choice, however, to participate or not.
Our middle one excelled in sports and, as a senior in 2009, he and his high school baseball team won the WIAA State Baseball Championship.
The morning of the grand championship game as our son came downstairs, his dad tenderly said, “Win, lose or draw, son, we’re proud of you.”
“Dad — we’re not done yet,” our son gravely responded.
It gave me goosebumps. He was determined. The mantra our middle one lived by was: “If you’re not first, you’re last.” Competitive, anyone?
As our kids were playing, we’d barely ever missed a game or a tournament, from Little League up even to college-level ball, when we could make the trip. My husband never put our cows first, always instead working them around games. For years he got up at 3:30 a.m. so that 12 hours later we could milk again at 3:30 p.m., in time to make even away games. We’ve never regretted that decision.
One time, our daughter was playing a softball game and the team they were up against had upped the game time to accommodate their school’s graduation later that day. We scrambled to find a milker and found one, but the cows had to be in the barn before we left.
Going out to the pasture we called for them and they stopped dead in their tracks, ears perked forward, eyes wild, not knowing what in the heck we wanted with them in the middle of the day. It was like herding cats. It took us forever to get them all rounded up, but we did it.
This summer our oldest, who now resides in Green Bay after living in California for 10 years, wanted to take in a Brewers game. Our middle son lives in Milwaukee and joining him and his girlfriend, we all attended the game where the Brew Crew was playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. Their star pitcher, Paul Skenes — who has an impressive fastball exceeding 100 miles per hour — was on the mound.
We were pleased to see that our new kid was in the rotation at that time and, lo and behold, was scheduled to pitch the very game we had previously bought tickets to see. The game was sold out. This young man, Jacob Misiorowski, is a right-handed marvel who’s known for his high-velocity fastball, which has recorded speeds at 103 mph with a high strikeout record.
What a matchup. We ended up winning 4-2.
Bottom of the ninth inning, the entire fan base was standing, clapping and cheering. All of a sudden, our phones started blowing up.
“Hey! You guys are on TV!”
Yes, indeed, we were. We were floored. There were over 40,000 fans there and we made TV? It was a hoot, plus everyone left with a smile on their face.
Closer to home, once in a while we catch a BABA game. One Friday night, the Caroline Cougars were playing, and after that game, they held their annual fireworks.
This little community brings people in far and wide. Parents and kids spread out blankets and lawn chairs and after the nine-inning game, are treated to the most phenomenal display of fireworks around. During the show, the loudspeaker belts out patriotic songs commemorating our great nation’s independence.
Looking around before the lights went out, I saw moms and dads carting little ones in wagons. I watched one mom pull out four blankets and finally, a kid. Placing her on top of the pile of blankets, the little girl snuggled in waiting for the show.
In preparation for the celebratory evening, someone had spray-painted an entire American flag on the grass in the outfield just past second base. The whole night was so wholesome and satisfying I got teary-eyed with how richly blessed I am to live where I live. While my life isn’t perfect, I serve a perfect God while living it.
Sports is more than a game. It brings friends and families together, making memories — and sometimes even a moment’s fame on TV.
(“For while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.” 1 Timothy 4:8)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
