Baseball Widow

Game 1: Westside Redbulls at the Washington State Little League Baseball All Stars Tournament

July 19, 2008 3:30 PM | 0 Comments

Next, it was off to the game. Opening ceremonies included an announcer who desperately needed a pronunciation guide, Boy Scout flag-bearers and a piped in instrumental version of the National Anthem a la M.A.S.H.(TV_series).

One of the player's Moms arranged for her company’s graphic arts department to create an obscenely large banner, which festooned the back of our bleachers. We also lined up all of our player poster boards, including the shrine we created in the hotel room last night for Austin. He was the starting pitcher, and my stomach was in knots the entire time. After he pitched, I felt emboldened and wolfed down my first “Walking Taco.” For those who are unfamiliar with this delicacy, it’s a bag of smashed Doritos, which is slit open, and then ground beef and cheese are dumped into it. You consume it with a fork. It’s pretty tasty. At one point the same Mom who commissioned the banner climbed up into the Announcer's Tower to ask if he could limit the promotional announcements to points when the boys weren't at play, to which he replied: "WHATEVER."

So, here’s the good news: The Westside Red Bulls won 5-4. They were well-matched against their opponents, but there were still some heartbreaking moments. After striking out, one of the boys slid his baseball cap over his face to hide his tears, which was really poignant and reminded me that these guys are still man-cubs, to use a term from The Jungle Book. The mood was jubilant, and the boys were rewarded by a swim in the hotel’s kidney-shaped pool, which was about the same size as an actual human kidney, but they didn't care.

That evening the jubilation continued when some of the parents congregated in The Party Room, which was reminiscent of a lower key Frat or Dorm party. I was treated to a concoction that was similar to those lethal, green swamp waters, only this one contained fruit punch and coconut rum. Anyway, it acts as a truth serum. After giving any willing listeners a dissertation on the frontal lobe and the adolescent, I questioned why we stopped at six innings today. Apparently, for the past four years, we’ve only played six innings. OK, my bad. I was unmasked, and my credibility score plummeted to 0. I don’t even think they believe that the frontal lobe is an actual part of the human brain. All respect wiped out like a shaken Etch A Sketch. Oh well, I’ll win them back tomorrow.

The Sports Widow
(aka Nan Hall)