When our church bought a block of tickets to the local baseball game, my husband signed up. It’s almost like he cares about sports. I see it more like an evening where you just sit there for four hours until your behind hurts so bad that you have to stand up. Then you eat soggy hot dogs on crumpled-up buns and pretend like you’re not on a diet. You occasionally look at the field so that people think you came to see the baseball game.
I leaned over to my 7-year-old daughter. “Did you know that those white squares on the ground are bases, and that there’s a batter and a pitcher?”
“Yes,” answered my daughter.
“Where did you learn that?” I asked, perplexed about how she knew.
And here I thought the Wii game was a waste of time. But my kids are learning the rules of different sports. This is not a commercial for Wii. If any kids are reading this, get off your computer games and go read a book.
So the baseball game dragged on and on. Someone had a baby behind me that kept kicking my back. The woman next to my daughter started talking about her world travels, and then finally time stopped dragging. It was fun to chat. I saw another friend up on the bleachers, sort of alone (except for her two kids) because the family beside her had left. So I plopped down and started chatting. Time flew by. I had a great time. I told my love story, which is always sappy and interesting with many twists and turns in the plot.
As far as the baseball game was concerned, our home team was losing, and we continued losing until the very end of the game, where we suddenly won. We all stood up and started dancing around, as if we cared that we won. Yes, I saw church people dancing a crazy jig, as if it was normal. This concluded the long four-hour night, and we drove home, after inching forward in traffic forever. Ahhh, what a night.Tweet