Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie

I don’t much care for sports.
There, I said it.
This would not be too big a problem if it were not for one fact.I’m the mother of two boys.
Boys, as a general rule, do like sports.
The simple truth is basketball bores me, I can’t stand football, I only find soccer interesting if my sons are on the field and hokey leaves me cold, although I do like watching the Zamboni and the weird behavior of the crowds during a fight.
Baseball is the exception.
I really do like it, and the smaller the scale the better. Baseball reminds me of the neighborhood games played in the schoolyard behind my mother’s house. I was a really, really bad baseball player, but at least I was allowed to play.
It’s a sport I understand, although my loyalty to baseball is rather spotty.
I remember watching the 1975 World Series with the Cincinnati Reds against the Boston Red Sox. Dad was a fan of the Reds with their switch hitter Pete Rose, as well as other famous players Johnny Bench Dave Concepcion and Cesar Geronimo on the team. We watched the series together, and it is one of my fond memories of my father.
Years later when St. George Native, and lefty, Bruce Hurst pitched for Boston Red Sox in the 1986 World Series against the New York Mets, I, along with most residents of Southern Utah was glued to the television. When the series was lost in the seventh game I was mightily sad. But St. George now has a Bruce Hurst legacy in ball fields and teams.
I sat through a few baseball games played by my nephew, Shane, and never really understood why my sister was so intent on the game. Now I know. My DS-8 signed up for Little League this year and with games and practices I am now committed to something like four nights a week sitting on the sidelines of a baseball diamond.
Quite frankly, I have no idea how I will manage getting him to all the practices and games, as well as attending my required meetings for work and church while DH is working several nights a week. Now would be a good time to perfect cloning.
Today was the official opening day ceremonies. Apparently all little leagues have opening day ceremonies at the same time as the National Baseball League ceremony.
DS-8 was given his uniform yesterday and he looked cool all suited up with the hat and glove. I do believe baseball uniforms are so much more classic than football jerseys and head’s and shoulders above soccer shorts.
When I see him in the pants, the tucked in shirt, the baseball cap, with mitt in hand it stirs something akin to patriotism in my little heart. During the opening ceremonies a group of three teen-aged girls sang the Star Spangled Banner A capella, they did a beautiful job and it made me teary eyed.
Baseball is just so All-American, it’s hard not to love it.