The Boys of Summer

My son knows his first complete word.  By that, I mean he know how to spell it, how to say it, how to recognize it, and how to sound the letters out to make the word.  He probably knows other words, but this was the whole package at one time.

The word is “ball”.  He spelled it out b-a-l-l, and I wrote it down as he said each letter.  And then he pronounced each sound; b (ba), a (aw) l (el) l (el).  Then he put them all together and said, “ball”.  A great moment in his young career.  Now I just need to teach him how to put the word “base” in front of it.

I like baseball. And fast pitch softball. Always have.  I’m a fan.  Not as diehard as I used to be.  I mean, I don’t keep up with rosters, individual stats, and even team standings, but I enjoy watching a game on TV.  I grew up on baseball.  We played it on teams.  We watched when a game was on the television.  We’d grab a bunch of friends and head off to a ball diamond or create a makeshift field with shirts, cardboard, or extra mitts for bases.  We would go see my dad play.  Sometimes we would have a great “whiffle” ball game going out past the left field fence as dad’s team was playing their game.  Rumor has it, that the day I was born, my dad was playing a game on a semi-pro team.  At least that is what I heard.

One of my earliest memories of a ball game is when I was about five years old.  I went with my dad to a game that he was playing in.  That particular night, they didn’t have enough players to field a team and they were going to have to forfeit until they asked me to play.  I remember being up to bat with my eyes glue to the pitcher as he began his wind up.  I saw the ball all the way, made my swing and “crack”, bat and ball connected.  The ground ball was bouncing toward the shortstop and I was heading down the first baseline running as fast as I could.  And what do you know; I beat the throw.  And I hear the word, “safe”.   That is all I remember about my first game.  But that memory is as clear today, as it was when it happened on that summer night so long ago.

Now, as I fill in the gaps and stay in the logical real world, I am sure it the story is a little different.  The truth is probably more like this.  The real game was probably over or it was just a practice game.  And the adults thought it would be fun for me to take a swing.  The pitcher was as close as he could be and tossed the ball so it would make contact with the bat.  The reason I made it safe to first was because of the intentional bobbling of the ball by the infielders until I touched the bag.  That is more likely how it happened.  But not in my head.

So, my wife and I got to go to a game the other day.  It was our local Single “A” short season farm team for the Giants.  My brother in law got the tickets and off we went.  This actually was the first game that my wife and I went to together.  I was excited to go and see a ball game, but I really don’t really show a lot of emotion when it comes to things like that.  The best I had was what my wife called a “suppressed giddiness” look on my face.  I am not a big “yeller” or “screamer” or “whoop de whooper”.  I just sit and watch the game.  I applaud a great hit or catch.  I analyze a bad play.  And I nod my head when a play is well executed.  My wife, on the other hand, is grinning because she knows I am passively having a great time.

We get to our seats about fifteen minutes before the game starts.  I am a little “bummed” because I like to watch the warm-ups and batting practice. But at we made it before the anthem and the first pitch. 

“What do we do now?” my wife asks. 

“We eat.” I reply.
T: “Now? Before the game starts?”
Me: “Yes, now.”  (For the following reasons.  1. I’m hungry.  2. Going early we won’t have to wait in line as long.  3. Don’t want to miss a pitch.)

So we get our $6.00 hot dog ($5.00 profit for them) and our $3 dollar pop ($2.00 profit for them) and sit down for the game.  Then we will eat other things as needed.  (Later T. got nachos.  Those hot dogs don’t go very far.  And I had some peanuts, a baseball staple). 

And I watched.  Every pitch.  Some people were leaving early, as the game didn’t end up that close.  I am sorry.  I find that wrong.  In my book, it is from first pitch to last pitch. Because, baseball is about the experience as a whole.  It is more than just the score.  It is the feel, the moment, and the ambiance. It’s the sun, the grass, the dirt, and the bleachers.  It’s the sounds of the game, the cheers of the crowd, the music, the “charge”, and the foot stomping.  It’s the lights, the catching of a foul ball, the mascot teasing the opponents, and the coach and umpire in a disagreement.  It’s the seventh inning stretch.  It’s the “That’s the ball game.  Thanks for coming and drive home safe”.

It is three or four hours of fun.  For the cost, yes, even with the inflated food prices, you get a good bang for your buck.  I know it is long.   A professional umpire once said that “baseball is the only game that you can watch on TV, go mow your lawn and never miss a single pitch”. I know for some it is boring.  My wife even brought a book.  A book!  I wouldn’t let her read it.  Some people just don’t like watching the game, but I love the strategy.  The decision of what pitch to throw, whether to swing or not, to steal the base or not, to pinch hit, to bring in the closer, and the clutch hit or catch that changes the outcome of the game.  I love it.  I love it all. Baseball.  America’s pastime. The boys of summer.  Or in this case the “boy of summer”.  Not sure who I am taking about.  But. . .

My son knows a complete word.  Can't wait until we add "base" in front.  Play ball!