Manager's Trot

I’m not sure how it started. You’ve seen it many times. A baseball manager calls timeout, ascends the steps in the dugout and then makes his way to the pitcher’s mound or home plate or somewhere. Calling it a run is the better part of generous. A run it isn’t. But, in fairness, it isn’t a walk either. The arms are bent and move in a cow-milking manner with vigor and the shoulders are engaged in a Larry King sort of way. There is a slight bounce. But there isn’t any speed. Usually a sunflower seed falls out of the guy’s mouth. And I think one foot is on the ground at all times. I guess the beauty is the manager really isn’t hustling, but he looks like he is. He gives the appearance that he has a sense of purpose and, after all, baseball is a sport. It stands to reason that running (or fake running) would be the main mode of transportation among players and coaches.

I find myself employing the manager’s trot from time to time. I usually break it out in a crosswalk. A motorist has given me the “hurry up, Jack” wave and out of courtesy I pick up the pace – sort of. I would feel awkward continuing to walk at my leisurely clip, but I don’t feel like sprinting. And if I ran I would probably pull a hammy. So I do want any rational person would, I pretend like I’m running. I’m basically saying, “Hey, thanks for not hitting me with your car. And as a thank you, I will pass by your vehicle 1 second faster than I normally would. This, my friend, is the least I can do. Have a good day.”