Get out of here!

I don’t know if I’ve admitted this on the blog, but I am a huge Atlanta Braves fan. I have been a fan for as long as I can remember. I am talking about the entire before we were good.

In the late 80’s to early 90’s, the Braves used to have a player named Tommy Gregg. My mom swore up and down he was Bobby Cox’s (The Braves manger for over 20 years) illegitimate son, because there was no way he should be on the roster. Every time he came to bat she would cry out, “Oh no, not Tommy Gregg!”

Whenever the game was on the line, old Bobby would call on Tommy. You know how the situation would play out. Bottom of the 9th, two outs, the winning run standing on third only 90 feet away. This is the scenario every little boy dreams of the chance to be the hero. It seemed like Mr. Gregg had this opportunity at least once a week for an entire season. I am not sure if he ever drove in the winning run, but Bobby would faithfully call on him every night to pinch hit. I almost forgot to mention, but his only job was to pinch hit. Matter of fact, I can only remember him being in the starting lineup a couple times in his career.

On a weekly basis, me and the other boys at church would bemoan Tommy Gregg. It was our favorite pastime to hurl our insults, “He might as well be blind.” “He wouldn’t even start for our little league team.” “Maybe he is blackmailing the Braves.”

One Sunday morning, we were discussing Tommy’s disappointment the previous evening. Guess who walks through the door? You guessed it… my Dad, followed by my mom, and then Tommy Gregg. Tommy “Freaking” Gregg. He just sat there on the front pew smiling. What did he have to smile about? I know he wasn’t smiling about his on field performance.

My point: He better have been smiling about the joy of the Lord.