The Ball Game

Here are a few things I love:

Peanut butter, baseball, The Avett Brothers… and several of my kids. 

There are some other things on the  list, but those are the first few that come to mind. Oh, and gummy bears. I love gummy bears.

Anyway, this post is about baseball.

A couple of years ago, one of the kids I love had a baseball game — the third game of the weekend tournament — and it began to rain. It was the third inning, I think. It was just a little bit of rain — no big deal. It was refreshing, really — but then the rumbles started.

This particular baseball field sits in a small valley, surrounded by mountains (let’s be honest… central Alabama doesn’t really have mountains, but “hills” doesn’t sound pretty. These hills are pretty). From the Home Team stands, we could see the storm roll slowly over the (mountains) and move East toward the Georgia state line. Nevertheless, in baseball “rumbles” equal “weather delay.”

To a tired, hot, sticky, bad-attitude-having dad whose son wasn’t even in the game at the time of the rumbles, this weather delay was like being told you don’t have the appropriate documentation AFTER standing in line for three hours at the DMV.

I was frustrated. 

“It’s barely raining,” I said out loud to no one in particular. “That thunder was 30 miles away,” I continued, “This is ridiculous. Let them play!”

My voice rose at the end, “Let them plAAY!”

Then I saw them.

The teams were playing.

Their game was still in delay, but the players — the kids — were having a ball. Literally.

I looked to my left and saw my son and three other players  huddled — heads down and focused, but giggling like school girls. “What are they doing?” My wife was concerned and stood to her feet. “What in the world are they do…”

The huddle broke, and my son threw a baseball across the infield and rolled it to a perfect stop at the feet of an opposing player. The kid picked up the ball and held his arms up in a shrug as if to say, “what’s your problem?”

“Read it!” A chorus of voices from the Home Team answered.

The opponent glanced at the ball, smiled, and ran into the Visitor’s dugout. A few seconds later, he and a few others emerged and threw the ball back across the field. 

Our guys ran out to retrieve it and hilarity ensued.

Turns out my son had written “Any hot sisters?” on the first thrown ball. The other team replied with a Snapchat handle. Our team wrote something silly and then the other team started a game of tic-tac-toe… and on and on and on. 

At the end of the weather delay, each team had recorded multiple phone numbers, a few new knock-knock jokes, a couple of “your mama’s so fat” jabs, and a lot of unified laughs.

Parents, coaches, and even the grumpy umps watched in awe as the game within the game unfolded and those two teams became one.

Pretty soon, the rumbles passed over the (mountains) and we were back in the middle of the third inning — but a little less concerned with balls and strikes. I honestly don’t remember who won, but I won’t soon forget that ball game.

He had another tournament the next weekend, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope for a thunder roll or two.