My love for baseball was first sparked at a young age in
tee-ball and continued into my early retirement from competitive little league.
I retired on top – a solid 1.00 batting average on the tee-ball year. 1 for 1
on the plate, with 100 outfield dandelions fielded, 12 cool ranch Doritos bags
consumed, and about 15 temper tantrums before at-bat attempts. Unfortunately,
the start of baseball coincided with my stubborn five year old ways and my flat
out refusal to participate in any sort of social event, which included school,
birthday parties, and play dates. Although I never returned to playing
baseball, my parents’ perseverance (still evident in the numerous books
entitled Your Difficult Child that line our bookshelves) enabled me to return
to other sports a few years later.
Alas, I became a little league fan and frequently attended
my brother’s games. Some parents would line the fence hollering at their sons
to slide, in a tone more appropriate for exclaiming, “Don’t hit your sister over
the head with a 2 x 4.” Other parents and fans would stand passively,
continuously promoting a little league time limit. I simply busied myself
consuming water ice and attempting dangerous playground feats. Even though I
still couldn’t differentiate between shortstop and second base, I was an avid
spectator. If only for the water ice.
Somewhere around this time I began to follow the Phillies.
As a dedicated Phillies fan, I assumed a natural loathing for the Braves. In
first grade music class, I refused to sing the line of the national anthem –
“home of the Braves” – thinking that Francis Scott Key was not giving the
Phillies adequate justice.
Still though, it’s the time spent watching
baseball with family and friends that I seem to love most about the sport. I distinctly remember my dad’s
prediction at a Phillies game that Ryan Howard would hit a 6ft x 6 ft Bud Light
sign in right field at the next at bat. Sure enough, next swing later, clonk.
And, naturally, five minutes later, the click of a Bud Light can. I’m pretty
sure that when Bud Light is on the line, probability goes out the window. And
so does Natty. (Not that I ever really have either. However, I’m currently
stocked on almond milk, pedialyte, and Gatorade. A pre-race party is in store.)
Despite four years of being in Durham, last weekend was my
first experience at a Durham Bull’s game. David and I managed to perfectly
maneuver a three-hour rain delay by going for a second run, eating dinner, and
grabbing ice-cream. In order to keep our sporting event tradition strong, we started our game-watching
with a continuous, entertaining critique on the players (only fair if it’s give and
take though, please do the same when we are running.)
I’m pretty sure that some of the most entertaining moments
of the evening included the dual occurrence of sprinkler delays and rain
delays. The sprinkler delay actually lasted about five minutes, and started
mid-pitch, while the rain delay was a good bit more formidable and wound up
canceling the game. Now that we have redeemable tickets we’ll definitely be
back. If only for Rita’s water ice.
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| Sprinkler Delay - 2nd Base Stayed Ready and Low the Entire Time |
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| Durham's Weather Radar: Giant Red Blob |
