E-mail I can live without

<a href="mailto:llilja17@hotmail.com">By LORRAINE LILJA</a>
Innocent Bystander

June 25, 2008 04:28 am

— Several times a week, there's an inspirational e-mail in my inbox. Some read like they are true; others are so saccharin, I'm convinced that some Pollyanna created them.
Recently, I read about a handicapped boy named Timmy who longed to play baseball. His father related how he hesitantly asked a local team if they would consider letting him join in. The game was almost over, and the team was down three runs. They said, "Sure," and gave Timmy a team jersey to wear.
He was posted in the outfield, and nothing dramatic happened. When he came up to bat, the bases were loaded. His father held his breath, wondering if they would let him take his turn at the plate with so much dependent on it. Tim awkwardly swung at the softly-thrown ball. Strike one. The pitcher moved closer to the plate and lobbed another gentle pitch.
Wonder of wonders, the ball and the bat connected. Everyone was yelling, "Run, Timmy, run!"
Despite his lack of coordination, he ran. The pitcher picked up the ball and threw it over the head of the first baseman, and Tim made first.
The right fielder, backing up the first baseman, understood the pitcher's wild toss and threw the ball wide of the second baseman.
"Run to second, Timmy!" the crowd shouted.
Another wild toss, and Tim was on third, pretty tuckered out.
"Run home, Timmy!"
And he tried to gather the strength for that last lap. The third baseman ducked down in front of him and carried him piggy-back to the home plate. Oh, how they cheered for the hero of the day, his father said. Timmy didn't make it to the next spring training.
He had passed away during the winter.
BUYING BREAKFAST
My next e-mail told of a two smelly homeless men in McDonald's in the dead of winter. Waiting customers cleared a path, and the older man put an assortment of coins on the counter, ordering two coffees.
A waiting woman realized they had to order something to be allowed to sit down and warm up, and coffee was all they could afford. She ordered two breakfasts and brought them to the table where the older man and the obviously mentally handicapped man sat.
Having boosted her self-esteem for about five bucks, she told her husband and son she had done it to give them hope. Then everyone wept.
MISDIRECTED MESSAGE
If the messages had ended as they have here, my eyes may have misted over. But then these moral messages tell you that you must forward them to receive a reward, its size and/or speed of arrival dependant on how many people you send it to.
The author doesn't explain how he/she acquired the power to grant awards, nor even how he/she would know how many folks you forwarded it to.
These predicted results negate the whole bloomin' message! Don't these people know that a good deed is its own reward? Why do they feel they have to tack on the benefits available if you spread a little joy?
Some messages even predict dire consequences if you fail to send them on at all. If you don't forward the messages, a troll will appear and demand that you give him your firstborn! And yet the senders will claim they sent it to you because you are a friend!
So please stop sending me this inspirational blackmail. I enjoyed the pictures of the huge tortoise that adopted the baby hippopotamus, and the polar bear that played with the sled dog, so please confine your messages to tales of this ilk.
And abstain from telling me to send the message back to you. You've already read it, dummy!