From Scooters to Baseball

I took my first ride on a scooter yesterday, and were I a man of means, I would have bought one today. No, I would have bought one yesterday. A teammate on my baseball team picked me up to take me to practice. There we were, two guys whizzing through town decked out in baseball uniforms and carrying baseball gear. I would like to pause here for a moment to note that "whizzing" is the perfect verb to denote the action which takes place while driving a scooter. It is slightly better than "zipping", because "whiz" seems to pick up better on the noise that accompanies the movement. I digress in this fashion merely to help fix more firmly in your mind the entire scope of that action we call riding a scooter. Anyway, we went whizzing through town, weaving in and out of traffic, running up on sidewalks, and going the wrong way down one way alleys. It was a moving experience. There are, of course, rules that scooterists must follow, but these rules are more lenient than those foisted on cars. When I say that these scooters are everywhere, I mean just what I say. You cannot walk out your door and look in any direction save up and not see a hundred of them. If you look up you will probably see only fifty or so. It seems that some people believe that operating a scooter is a formal affair. I say this because half the time you see men in suits and ties or women in skirts and heels whizzing about town. If I wind up with one, I will go the suit and tie route. I just don't do heels.

Practice went well--all five hours of it. It started at one o'clock; at least that is what I was told. It seems, however, that to say practice starts at one o'clock means that is the time the players should remember that there is a practice and begin to prepare to head that way. I am not sure when we actually started practice, but it wasn't one o'clock. Not even close. That is the way things work here, though. When we finally did start practice, they indicated that they wanted me down in the hot corner. Some of you, of course, will complain that it is highly inappropriate for me to be occupying the hot corner. I prefer to ignore you and dwell instead on the fact that I completely sealed off that particular piece of real estate. I stated earlier that they "indicated that they wanted me" in the hot corner. I worded it in this fashion because communication is rather difficult between us. Their English is strained and my Chinese is still nonexistent. At one point they referred to the "batter" as the "knocker", and their way of saying "Let's go!" seems to be "Cheer up!" This is the sort of conversation that takes place between us:

Teammates in English: "You shthourd base. Knocker in random play try knock good in play. One out in try runner on fourst and pitcher throw up ball. Defense practice in match in playing team. Double play in one out. Cheer up!"

Me in Chinese: "Hello! Thank you!"

We make it, though. We all love baseball, and as we all know, love transcends all languages.

Am beginning to teach now. Taught my first lesson at my new school this morning. Over the next two weeks I will teach at least one class a day and go through more training. I still have a lot to learn. I still don't have the "Mr. Sun" song down pat yet, much less "Five Little Monkeys." I will get them, though. I promise you I will get them.