Baseball season is upon us.
Soon, our kids will manage to coat their new cleats with mud from pre-pre- season practices on extra muddy (if not frozen) fields.
Our weekends will fill with practice schedules, in an effort to loosen up rusty players.They will soon getting their pitching arms prepared, gloves broken in and bats swinging.
Little league season is here (almost).
In this house we get to enjoy it three fold, like everything else.
That is apparent when we head to the local sporting goods store for equipment and apparel (times 3). Of course everyone will have outgrown their cleats from last year, leaving little in the hand-me-down bin. All that remains are dirt covered spikes that no one wants to wear for their first game, and busted up gloves, with no lacing.
Once the equipment and the kids are ready, my travel chair will, once again, be packed into the back of the mini van.
I enjoy the start of a new season. I look forward to the games, the cheers, the sun, and the home runs.
I look forward to it all. But I must admit, watching the parents in the bleachers is a whole other spectator sport. A bonus, if you will, for freezing through those early Spring games.
Even better than watching irate parents argue with umpires, and more entertaining than watching hurried parents feast nightly on hot dogs and cheese fries, is listening to the bleacher chatter.
It’s in the bleachers that the best conversations can be overheard. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing.