Take me out to the ball game...

There's a runner in, but nobody on base. The score is 7-6. Last time the pitcher had two strikes on a kid was just two batters ago. The batter swung and missed, but the catcher dropped the ball. The throw to first was late and the run would eventually score in a game that had been tight all evening. The pitcher seems to be tiring, but the home crowd cheers him on. He hunkers down with the ball and glove against his chest and takes the obligatory deep breath. His leg goes up and in, torquing his body with the force we see in Nascar. His arm goes over the top and this ball is going right over the heart of the plate. It's either going to get nailed or end the game, but it's going to get swung at for sure. Strike three! The home part of the crowd goes wild! The disconsolate batter walks back to the dugout with his head down, but his coach is quick to console him. The winning pitcher pumps his fist, and then, almost immediately, gets in line. Several "Good games." can be heard at once as skin meets skin on walk-by high fives. One team picks up their equipment and walks back to the dugout. The other team bounces back to the bench like there's a invisible jump rope competition going on.

As the pitcher begins to walk my way, I stop, turn around as he passes me, and put my arm around him. "Great job, Colton.", I tell him. "Thanks.", he says with all the enthusiasm of the ball that now lies quietly on the pitchers mound. "You feeling ok?", I ask. "I'm a little dizzy", he says as he holds on to what remains of his Gatorade. After playing third base, then pitching through the third and fourth innings, going back to third, then pitching the sixth and final inning, there seems to be too much Gatorade left. I guess that may be the problem, he agrees like a good kid, and then heads over to the picnic area for snacks, drinks and handouts. Later on, he says the dizziness had turned into a dull headache.

He says he loves baseball, and I love that he loves baseball. It's the only sport I know a little about. I never played myself and I don't think I ever played catch with my dad, so I'm able to live vicariously through his every pitch, although that may not be wholeheartedly true. I just want him happy. Once he's done with baseball, he'll be done. We'll still play catch and stress the importance of God, exercise and a good education. I just worry about him sometimes, you know? He has the same headaches his mom has gotten all her life. Good, happy people like them don't deserve that sort of thing. I worry about Gabrielle, but in a different way. She's got my clumsiness. Poor thing. I worry about Noah just cause he's so little.

I just try to put it all in God's hands. He's got a plan for all of us. I'm not sure if that includes Gabrielle playing softball again next year, but we'll see. We'll see if Noah has the same look of calmness and intensity out on the mound. Until I find out, I'll continue to enjoy the outdoors and going somewhere where the children seem to outnumber the adults three to one, but everyone feels like an active participant. Hands clap, babies cry and everyone smiles. The boys of summer are back.