Take Me Out to the Ballgame
I'm currently at the little league field here in town. Otherwise known as my spring home-away-from-home. My oldest son has been playing baseball for...a long time now. I've lost track of exactly how long. He took a brief hiatus, but I think he regretted it about a week into the season. Since then, we've been here steadily. My youngest did baseball for a couple of years as well. It didn't take long, though, for him to decide that his real passion was soccer. Until is wasn't. I now have until the end of this week to sign him up for pop Warner football. Last fall my husband was waiting for our takeout order to be ready when he struck up a conversation with a member of the New England Patriots. His parting advice was to have "the soccer player switch to football." Who can say whether or not that had any bearing on his decision. But I digress.
I love baseball. Always have. These fields, however, sit in the middle of the Bermuda triangle. If it is 80 degrees in town, its 55 degrees at the field. Sunny all day? Not here. I imagine they do some kind of bug control. Its futile since there are no bugs here. No, there are winged creatures of destruction that the average bug might ride. These insects are big enough to be identified by their various gang tattoos. And they are ornery. Even the birds are afraid of them. On more then one occasion I have found myself cowering on a bleacher, praying it doesn't choose that moment to collapse from old age and fatigue, with a small baseball bat in my hand for protection. So they wait. Because dusk comes early to the baseball field. They know my eyesight isn't what it used to be. They lie in wait and as the sun goes down, they make their move. One representative will buzz my face. The others, snickering quietly, descend from behind. If I wasn't covered in welts, I might almost applaud their teamwork. Its often better than the teamwork I witness on the field. Instead, I flap around like a flamingo having a grand mal seizure. I distract my son. I'll hear about that later. Probably from my bed in the ICU where I'll receive blood transfusions and hefty doses of IV Benadryl. It's a wonder I haven't contracted malaria down here yet.
The crack of the bat reminds me where I am now. My son is up on deck. I have to pay attention now. If I miss this, dinner will be unbearable. Also, dusk is approaching....
I love baseball. Always have. These fields, however, sit in the middle of the Bermuda triangle. If it is 80 degrees in town, its 55 degrees at the field. Sunny all day? Not here. I imagine they do some kind of bug control. Its futile since there are no bugs here. No, there are winged creatures of destruction that the average bug might ride. These insects are big enough to be identified by their various gang tattoos. And they are ornery. Even the birds are afraid of them. On more then one occasion I have found myself cowering on a bleacher, praying it doesn't choose that moment to collapse from old age and fatigue, with a small baseball bat in my hand for protection. So they wait. Because dusk comes early to the baseball field. They know my eyesight isn't what it used to be. They lie in wait and as the sun goes down, they make their move. One representative will buzz my face. The others, snickering quietly, descend from behind. If I wasn't covered in welts, I might almost applaud their teamwork. Its often better than the teamwork I witness on the field. Instead, I flap around like a flamingo having a grand mal seizure. I distract my son. I'll hear about that later. Probably from my bed in the ICU where I'll receive blood transfusions and hefty doses of IV Benadryl. It's a wonder I haven't contracted malaria down here yet.
The crack of the bat reminds me where I am now. My son is up on deck. I have to pay attention now. If I miss this, dinner will be unbearable. Also, dusk is approaching....
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