An Evening of Baseball

We see them before we see the stadium: the fans. Nothing specific ties them together. But I can tell. The family with the stroller, the young couple walking, the man with the baseball cap … they’re all going to the game.

I’m going to the game with my dad and my two youngest brothers. We pass the baseball stadium in our car in time to hear the national anthem. The home team is the Columbus Clippers, and this evening they’re playing the Lehigh Valley IronPigs. Both are triple-A minor league teams.

Our seats were just beyond third base. The grass of the outfield is cut into straight, beautiful lines.

I’m rooting for the Clippers because they’re the team I watched as a child. I haven’t attended a baseball game since before college.

The air is salty with peanuts and human sweat. I recently watched the movie “Moneyball” so during the game I keep watching the players’ batting averages. (But batting average is an incomplete record of a player’s offensive contribution because it doesn’t count walks. Brad Pitt/Billy Beane would be proud.)

You have to pay attention in baseball. There is split second after the ball rockets off the bat when you think, “Is it going?” Sometimes it’s a fly ball or a pop fly. But sometimes the ball keeps going and going until it’s gone.

It’s the eighth inning. The Clipper’s third baseman, Tim Fedroff, steps up to the plate. The left-hander swings, and I hear the sharp crack of ball against bat. The ball cuts up, up and then … it’s gone.

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  1. since when did you start blogging in a foreign language? 😉

    • Haha, I guess this is one of the few times I’ve talked talked about sports on here 🙂


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