My 14-year-old athlete and I spent the weekend in a place I'd never visited before, Morgan Hill. I'm not sure, but I think I saw Mt. Morgan, the most impressive among an unimpressive series of foothills ringing the place.
It was, rather cute, as hills go here in coastal California.
We had a grade-A weekend. Last night, at a local Mexican restaurant in Morganville, around 25 of us players and parents partied. My friend Ken brought the house down, with his Bruce Springsteen imitation at the Karaoke microphone, singing "My hometown."
This morning, I took the boys to a local diner where a hen and rooster were running around outside.
I inquired about what they were doing last night, when a large group of girls across the way had started calling to them. They all grabbed tangerines and went running around the hotel complex.
I kept the best watch I could, but it was so cold outside, I was quite sure nothing untoward would occur. Sure enough, after running for an hour or two, the boys showed back up at our room, where they watched a movie until bedtime.
Ah yes, the games. Our guys played brilliantly, winning 2-0, 2-1, and 4-1, thereby moving to the quarterfinals next weekend. So, we will once again be migrating south to the Hill of Morgan, one more time. The kids would have to win three more games to be the champions here in Northern California.
None of us expect that, but all of us may be forgiven for hoping for it...This is the fun part of being a parent...
-30-
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