John E. Sokolowski-Imagn Images

Hello. While on paternity leave, I kept a journal about baseball and my daughter, who is not named Derek Jr., but who will henceforth be referred to as Derek Jr. You can read all of the entries here.

May 26
We’re trying to decide whether Derek Jr. is ready to move up from size two diapers to size three. I mention that we’ve still got a couple size one diapers left in the diaper bag. Maybe it’s not too late to use them up so they don’t go to waste. “Those size one diapers,” replies my wife, whose gorgeous, haunting debut novel comes out next fall, “would not fit one of her butt cheeks.”

May 27
Similarities Between My Daughter and Professional Baseball Players:

• They’re disturbingly young.
• They love spending time at the park.
• They’re incapable of keeping their saliva in their mouths where it belongs.
• They have shockingly thick forearms.
• They frequently dirty their uniforms.
• They’re constantly besieged by photographers.
• They have a carefully monitored nutrition regimen.
• They’re big on naps.
• They wear protective gear around their crotches.
• They’re evaluated using percentiles.

May 28
After we put Derek Jr. down to bed and finish up the chores, I put on the Blue Jays-Orioles game. My wife walks into the kitchen to get some water, and I call her over to the television. Tyler Rogers is pitching, and I’m dying to see how she reacts to someone who throws like Tyler Rogers.

She’s not as dumbfounded as she was the last time I called her over to watch a Blue Jays game. That was last year, and the thing that blew her mind was the voice of Buck Martinez. This time, she’s more confused than anything. She wasn’t aware that it was possible to pitch like Tyler Rogers.

I tell her that I like can pitch that way too. Specifically, I like to drop down and throw the Rogers slider while I’m playing catch with my friend Mike. It breaks straight up toward his face. He does not like it at all. [Update from the future: Softball season has started, and as we walked out to warm up before our first game, Mike informed me that, as he had not caught a ball in several months, under no circumstances was I allowed to throw the Rogers slider. Turns out he dislikes it more than I realized.]

The thing that really delights my wife is the term “submariner.” This is why I’m grateful to see the game through her eyes. “Submariner” is a fantastic word, but I’ve known it ever since I was am Oriole’s-obsessed kid watching Todd Frohwirth. I’ve been taking it for granted.

With emphasis on a different syllable, it means a sailor on a submarine of course, but what a delight that it can also mean a pitcher with the lowest release point possible. It implies that there’s some sort of understood sea level right around the height of the pitcher’s thigh. If you’re a sidearmer (like Todd Frohwirth’s son Tyler Frohwirth, for example), maybe you’re skipping rocks on the pond. If you’re Tyler Rogers, you’re down in the inky depths manning the conn and sounding the collision alarm.

Pete Alonso comes up to bat, and my wife says the sweetest thing. Last year, she announced somewhat out of nowhere that she had decided to be a Mets fan. She’s never watched much baseball, so when she suddenly expressed a rooting interest, I was eager to encourage her. I may have neglected to warn her about the ramifications of allowing the Mets even the slightest amount of influence upon your emotional wellbeing. I mean, I’ve been waiting my entire life to see the O’s in the World Series. The last time they made it, I was a fetus. Still, it makes sense. We live here in New York. We go to Mets and Cyclones games. And because the one baseball event she is truly excited to watch is the Home Run Derby, she loves Alonso. I’m sure I must have told her at some point that he is no longer with the Mets, but she’s forgotten. She’s surprised when he comes up wearing an Orioles uniform, no longer on her chosen team, but she takes it in stride. “It’s nice that he’s still on one of our teams,” she says, and I melt a little.

Then something fun happens. Alonso hits a comebacker that bounces right off Rogers’ heel and pops a good 30 feet into the air. It’s now arcing toward center field, but second baseman Ernie Clement catches it in stride deep behind second and gets what little he can on a whirling snap throw to first as his momentum carries him out toward left-center. The play ends up overturned on review, but the umpire on the field calls Alonso out. It’s a thrilling sequence. “Did you see that?!” I shout to my wife, but she didn’t grow up watching sports. She never cultivated the part of her subconscious that’s always listening for currents in the sound of a ballgame, attuned to the frequency of 30,000 people inhaling sharply all at once or the slight quickening in the voice of the play-by-play announcer, ready to send you running back into the room to catch the big moments. She’s already back at the sink, finally getting that glass of water.

If she’d stuck around a few minutes longer, she would’ve seen two more amazing plays. Two pitches later, catcher Brandon Valenzuela threw behind Alonso to pick him off at first. Then, after I flip over to the Cubs-Pirates game, Pete Crow-Armstrong, dead to rights at home plate, makes an incredible swim move to avoid the tag that ends with a somersault, then pops up and sprints to the dugout with his hands on his ears to make sure the Cubs challenge the out call.

May 29
It’s bedtime for Derek Jr. She’s been fed, and I’m changing her diaper one last time before we swaddle her. My wife sits on the couch and watches Derek Jr.’s face catch the soft orange light of the lamp on the changing table. “I love her so much,” she says. “I would give her all my organs.”

May 30
If the Characters on My Daughter’s Pajamas Formed a Baseball Team, This Would Be Their Optimal Defensive Lineup:

Pitcher: Sheep

That one’s easy. This sheep is already on the pitcher’s mound, staring icily at the batter. Besides, you can’t let a ruminant play somewhere on the grass, or they’d just ignore the action and spend the whole game snacking.

Catcher: Walrus With a Yellow Ski Cap

Yet another obvious choice. Walruses have built-in face masks and low centers of gravity. They don’t need to bother with a one-knee down catching stance. That’s their default stance, because their whole entire body is one big, weird leg anyway. Why’d we choose the walrus with the yellow cap? Well, partly because it’s already in its catcher’s stance with one flipper raised, but mostly because it’s got the good face.

First Base: Giraffe

Oh drat! I airmailed my throw to first base. Whatever will I do? It’s sure to sail clear over the head of the first baseman for an error and extra bases. Just kidding, our first baseman has an average height of 14 to 19 feet, along with little fluffy horns. Thanks, giraffe first baseman! You have saved my fielding percentage, and now I’m going to cruise through my arbitration hearing and earn some serious coin. I’m taking you out for dinner as a thank you, so get ready for a big, juicy leaf on me.

Second Base: Little Wind-Up Duck

Look, am I sure that this is the best move tactically? No, I am not. I could’ve put a Labrador retriever at second. And that would’ve been a great call, because Labrador retrievers have excellent range, footwork, and ball skills. They make excellent teammates, and they even lower your blood pressure. Moreover, I’m given to understand that there’s nothing in the rules that specifically prohibits such a proposition.

This duck doesn’t exactly look like it has a great first step. We’re likely to give up a thousand weak singles past a rolling duck. And even when it does stop the ball, I’m not at all sure how it’s going to get it to first. On the other hand, how cute would that tiny little duck look scooting around out there on the dirt? So adorable! Let’s give up some singles.

Third Base: Alligator

We’re up by one run. It’s the bottom of the eighth. There’s nobody on base. It’s time for no doubles defense. And would you look at that, our third baseman is 13 feet long from snout to tail. Nobody’s sneaking a ball down the line over there. As it turns out, we’re also in no triples defense pretty much all the time, because for some reason, baserunners don’t seem all that keen on sliding directly into the wide open mouth of a ferocious alligator.

Shortstop: Apple-Cheeked Ghost

Alright umpires, let’s make sure that the shortstop stays on the left side of second base. No illegal shifts on our watch. Oh wait, the shortstop just turned invisible! We’ll never know where they’re playing! They can shift to their long-stopped heart’s content. What a tactical advantage this pajama team just landed!

(It also turns out that it’s helpful to have an incorporeal being playing next to the alligator. I can’t tell you how many adorable little puppy shortstops we went through before we figured that one out.)

Left Field: Tuba Mouse

I hear your doubts. This mouse probably isn’t going to run very fast on account of the giant tuba it’s carrying. This mouse doesn’t have any mechanism for throwing the ball back to the infield even if it tracks down the ball. And exactly how big is this mouse anyway? Is it even wearing pants? Also, this tuba does not seem to work like any other tuba I’ve ever seen. Is it possible that this is some weird cross between a tuba and a French horn? It seems more likely that whoever drew this just didn’t bother to refresh their memory of what a tuba looks like.

To those doubts I say this: Yes, carrying a gigantic tuba that very much seems like it’s directly in front of its face, blocking it from seeing anything at all, will probably limit this mouse’s defensive value. It may not rack up all that much value according OAA. But it’ll all be worth it when the mouse finally catches a fly ball in the tuba. Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed. Just you wait and see.

Center Field: Unicycle Robot

This center fielder’s got wheels! Well, it’s got one wheel. And a disturbing number of loose gears seemingly streaming out behind wherever it goes. That’s probably not a good thing. On the bright side, we can call it Wheelie Mays.

Right Field: Brontosaurus

So yeah, between the mouse with the tuba, the possibly already broken-down robot, and this gigantic, plodding herbivore, we may not have the quickest outfield. On the bright side, think of all the home runs this gentle giant’s going to rob.