It's game time! Almost, anyway. My son had a scrimmage this evening - the first of the year with his new team. Scrimmages are only fun for the people playing, by the way. Maybe for the coaches and some of the dads, but not for the faint-hearted. For starters, there's no food booth, no permanent bathroom facility, no bleachers and was far from home (clear across town, can you imagine? Just kidding). I've been a bit spoiled by the fact that the regular field is roughly located in our back yard.
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So, this evening was spent dodging foul balls, shivering and trying hard to decide exactly how loudly nature would have to call before I'd resort to the porta-potty (a/k/a the big, bad, blue box) set up directly behind the umpire. It was all completely worth it when my favorite ball player stepped up to bat. I love watching him play, he is so determined and even when he is on the bench, he cheers enthusiastically for his team.
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My husband teases me though, because I tend to close my eyes if the count is full (3 balls, 2 strikes) while he is batting. I just can't watch. Sometimes I even pray. I know that it seems so minuscule, but I can't help it - the anxiety gets to me.
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And so it begins, baseball season is upon us.
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