Take me out to the ballgame...

I am a sucker for a guy in a uniform. I always have been. These days the boys are getting a bit smaller and a lot younger, but it still holds true. There is something about watching them together as a team, cheering each other on and working together to become better that impresses me. And did I mention those uniforms.

The past few years I watched Weston play baseball. I would look forward to his games and couldn't wait for the time of year to go to St. George or Vegas to watch him in a tournament. A couple of times I went by myself with my parents, and other times I took my family. Two weeks after my brain surgery, Weston had a tournament in St. George. This would be his last because he was a senior. I couldn't stand it. I made Chet take me down even though I probably shouldn't have. What was I to do, I loved it and couldn't think of missing it. When he left last year on a mission, I felt a loss. I would miss having him around, but I would miss watching him play just as much. After the last game of his senior year, I watched as a team of teenage boys said goodbye to their team and the game with tears in their eyes. I felt that I understood their pain.

It seems that this love has followed me throughout my life. It even showed up on our honeymoon in New York where Randy got us tickets to two Yankee games at the original Yankee Stadium where none other than Babe Ruth played. And yet again, a year and a half ago for our anniversary, Chet and I flew out to Boston; where else would we end up but at Fenway Park watching the RedSox take on our beloved Yankees. Knowing how rabid the Yankee fans were at our trip to Yankee Stadium, I was a bit nervous to be making an appearance at their rival's field accompanied by my husband sporting his blue Yankee ball cap. Trying to remain composed during the Yankee's victory, it was funny to watch as little by little camoflauged Yankee fans made their way out of the woodwork, with a little cheer here and there. Come to find out, the two men and one lady sitting next to us all decked out in Boston gear, were actually Yankee fans. They were friends with Boston's pitcher and out of respect for him had worn his colors. One of the men started to squirm as we talked to him about it, stating that he thought his skin was burning with a Red Sox shirt on.
A couple of years ago Riley had played baseball. He pitched and did well, but all it took was him hitting a kid with the ball and making him cry that appeared might end his baseball career. We have decided not to pick what our boys will be involved in, we figure it is easier for them to choose for themselves. It made me a little sad when Riley chose not to play last year. But I didn't push it. I was so happy this year when Riley and Connor informed us that they both would like to play baseball. In fact, at Riley's last game he pitched. He walked his first batter, and then went on to strike out the next three in a row. So it seems I will be filling my evenings with the crack of the bat and root, root, rooting for the home-team. Top it off with peanuts and crackerjacks, and I am in heaven!!