Life Lessons for Future Son

It's moments like this that make me happy I'm not a father just yet. I just don't know how I would explain this to Future Son.

I suppose I'd sit him on his bed, adorned with Phillies blankets and matching Chase Utley pillowcases. My bed spread may or may not have the same design.

In a related story, I may or may not be a single father.

"Son, you know I love you, right?" I'll ask as I tussle his hair, a golden blonde, styled just enough to look presentable but with a certain "devil may care" attitude about it.

"Course I do, Pop," he'll say.

"Good. Which is why what I'm about to tell you might not make a lot of sense right now. But sometimes adults have to make difficult decisions. You'll understand when you're older."

He'll furrow his little brow. "Why, Pop, what's wrong?" he'll say.

I begin to choke up. I look around his bedroom for inspiration. He loves the game of baseball more than anything, just like his old man.

His walls are covered with posters of his favorite players. His desk is cluttered with all of his baseball trophies, as well as pictures of his multiple girlfriends.

He's only seven. I'm so proud.

And that's what makes all this so hard.

"Son..." I struggle to find the words as I stare into his piercing blue eyes. "Son, this isn't easy but...I had to bench Hanley Ramirez."

"But why, Pop? I know he's only hitting .293 but that's gonna change. He's the batting champ!"

"I know, I know, son. But you see, last night..." I trail off again. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

"Son...last night, Hanley didn't hustle."

That sound you just heard? That's the sound of a hypothetical seven-year-old's little heart breaking into a million pieces. He flings himself into my arms and cries harder than he ever has before. I shed a tear as well. This is too much.

"But why, Pop, why?! Why wouldn't Hanley hustle?!"

And I don't know what to tell him.

Future Son? Or a Google search of "blonde little boy"?

Not hustling is one of the game's ultimate sins, right up there with stealing signs, swinging on a 3-0 count or ever questioning Tony LaRussa. There are some things you just don't do.

And that's what I have to explain to Future Son, unfortunately...that his heroes are not perfect, that everyone has flaws and tragically, some men choose not to play the game the right way.

Last night against the Diamondbacks, Hanley booted a ball into the left field corner and lolly-gagged after it. You read that right.

Hanley Ramirez: All-Star, Franchise Player, Batting Champ, MVP Contender...Lolly-Gagger.

There are many things in this world that are a mystery to me. How anyone could think "Parks and Recreation" is funny, for one.

Women in general, for another, although my Shane Victorino slippers may hold a clue.

And how a baseball player of Hanley's caliber, with Hanley's speed, can so blatantly slack off like that. The ten Marlins fans in attendance must have been furious.

Hanley was benched the next inning, but how long he stays benched is the real question.

The Marlins have many reasons to play him: namely, he is very good and their baseball is real. The Darling Asteroids, on the other hand, are taking a firm stance.

Hanley, you're benched for the rest of the week. Alexei Ramirez, no relation in name or in heart, will man shortstop for the foreseeable future. After Sunday's games, we'll reassess.

Take this time to think about what you've done. Think about how you've disrespected the game and made Future Son cry.

How do you sleep at night?!

You should be on the field, raking in the hits, runs and steals like the Top-5 stud that you are. But instead, you're in fantasy purgatory with the likes of Carlos Quentin, he of the .180 batting average and stupid face.

Those two names should never be in the same sentence. It's a damn shame.

"Hey Pop, didn't Alex Rodriguez once tip pitches to other players, and yell at a third baseman as he tried to catch a pop-up, and cross Dallas Braden's mound on his way back to first one time, and also do steroids, too?" he asks. "Why don't we talk about that stuff anymore?"

Another thing I don't understand.

"That's OK, Pop. I'll always hustle," he says to me.

I've never been prouder. "I know you will, son. I know you will," I reply and kiss his forehead.

I tuck him in. "Hey, Pop?" he asks as I turn around in the doorway. "When's Mom coming home?"

"When I get rid of my Jimmy Rollins bathrobe," I tell him.

He thinks for a moment. Then, with a sly wink, says, "So...never?"

That's my boy.