Being an investment advisor in a bear market is challenging, but it's a cake walk compared to being the coach pitcher in 1993 for my daughter Jana's 9-year-old softball team. To speed up the game, the league rules were that after 3 balls were thrown to each batter on our team, I would come in and serve up 3 hittable pitches. If all 3 pitches weren't perfect, all hell would break loose in OUR stands and MY dugout. The pressure was more intense than it should have been for 9-year-old softball, but such is life in Texas. In my fleeting memory, I was quite good; but there are parents today who still mention that I led the league in strikeouts that year.
Before I learned about the game-time stress, our team had its first practice game. Jana came to the plate in the first inning, and the count quickly went to 3 balls. It was my turn. The first pitch was absolutely perfect. She watched it hit the catcher's mitt and gave me a dirty look. The second pitch, again right down the middle, elicited the same response from Jana. I gave her my best dad-like "What do you want?" shrug. If looks could kill, I would have been carried from the mound to an awaiting hearse. The third pitch was admittedly a little high, and the video replaying in my mind would clearly confirm this. Jana reached for it, but could only foul it off. Her first at bat and the inning was over.
Halfway back to the dugout, she stopped and threw down her bat, then her helmet. She looked at me and yelled, "YOU HAVE RUINED MY LIFE!"
Dr. Jana's high expectations for herself started early and continue today, apparently undeterred by that errant 3rd pitch that ruined her life. She's beautiful, brilliant, and creative. I owe this website to her and husband Matt's genius.
She loves her Dees, and he loves her, even if can't pitch for shizzle. Happy Birthday Jees!!