A friend of our brought over a clipping of an old column the other day. As Russell's last season of football is in the final stages, I thought it was ironic of how he didn't like football at the time. Now, he loves to play. I thought it was a great story concerning playing sports, hard work and how things always turn around for the best.
Never in a million years did I think I would end up with the type of boys that wander around my house.
I figured all my boys would be football players. Yes, originally I wanted to have five boys ripping through the hallways in my massive old farm house. But after living with Joey and Russell all these years, I am glad I chose to not have any more.
Who knows what I would've ended up with?
Joey and Russell are such opposites I almost think one of them could actually be the mailman's.
Russell loves to get his clothes dirty playing any kind of sport, except football. He dresses like all the cool dudes. He rips up the driveway with his dirt bike and four-wheeler, and he actually likes being out in the barn milking the cows.
Joey is so different from that. It's like he's the North Pole, and Russell is the equator. Joey only participates in golf and could care less what clothes I purchase for him. He prefers to stay in the house and dork around on the computer. Forget about milking cows; he would rather be out with the cows making them into the world's tamest animals, which he is rather good at doing.
Not only are their habits completely incongruous; their personalities are like fire and water too.
So, the other day, when Russell turned around to face the back seat of the Cow Car, and said something nice to his brother, I just about took all three of us on a ditch-hopping drive.
I could not believe what I had heard.
"Joey, I wish you still played baseball," he said. "Then you could be the pitcher and I could be the catcher. We would be good together."
I thought this proposal was absolutely insane.
These two never seem to agree on anything. They argue over who is tougher; who left the bag of cereal on the cupboard, or the glass in the living room.
They never agree on who changed the litter box last. Apparently, they both do it ALL the time.
I must be dreaming when I clean it out.
I couldn't keep my thoughts to myself, so I spoke up.
"I don't know how you actually think you two could get along as a pitcher and a catcher," I said. "You don't agree on anything!"
"Yea, but we could practice together all the time and get good," Russell said.
"I can see it now," I laughed. "You would be giving Joey a signal for which pitch you want him to throw. Of course, he isn't going to throw that pitch because he thinks you have no idea what you're talking about."
I explained further.
"Russell would give the pitch for a fast ball and Joey would shake his head, No.
"Russell would give the signal for Joey to throw the fast ball across the plate, and Joey would again signal, No.
"Russell would forcefully give the signal for a fast ball and Joey would again refuse, while he stood on the elevated pitchers' mound with that evil little grin.
"For the third time Russell would call for a fast ball, and for the third time Joey would absolutely love to see you squirm, so he would shake his head, slowly, to the left and right.
"You two would be glaring at each other and finally Russell would call a time out; Joey would throw his glove to the ground, you would run to the mound and Joey would put you into a head lock.
"Russell, you would be doing your best to give Joey a kidney punch.
"No, I think it's best that Joey stays with golf and you continue to play baseball."
I have thought of that conversation often and I have come to realize there probably is a reason why they were created from two different molds.
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