Saturday began without direction, without plans, without any ambition other than to have no plans, no direction and no ambition. We were planned out, the Viking Bride and her dashing consort (that'd be me, in case you weren't sure), and still somewhat tired from the trip. The children and I were enjoying a quiet breakfast together en trois when I happened to notice a small advertisement in the local paper for an event that evening. I seized on it as a sign from above, as inspiration striking, and so, in a move not necessarily calculated to endear me to my bride, I picked up the phone and invited my parents to come out with us that night. Then I bought me some tickets.

Now, before I get to the main event, taking this as it came that day, we first had to hit the pool/ beach, as the weather was gawgeous. So we did. And then came naps for the kinder. And then, why then we headed off to bring the children to their first ever minor league baseball game.

Go, Bluefish!

There is something magical about minor league baseball. It was a lovely summer night, not too hot, cooling breezes, cold beer, hot dogs, and splendid seats five rows behind home plate on the first base side. We also had a view of the train tracks so the Boy Child could continue to shout, with great excitement, TRAIN!, every time a train went by. We had hot peanuts and the kids sampled cracker jacks for the first time. It was also kid hat giveaway night, which both puzzled and delighted them. The mascot was not as big a hit -- the teeth on that fish were just a bit too long for the comfort of the Boy Child.

But just sitting there, teaching the kids to yell, batterbatterbatter, swing, batter, was worth it. Even my father had a good time.

There is something wonderful about minor league ball, with the potato sack races and spin around the bat until you're dizzy races, and the giveaway Ct. Light and Power t-shirts they fling into the stands. Something so downright delightfully hokey, such a fun combination of not too serious marketing with the national pastime. I don't know, just sitting there in the stands of this intimate little stadium was uplifting. I tell you, baseball is healing.

My wife wants to go back for our next date night.

By the way, I think I had the nicest compliment from the Girl Child as I tucked her into bed last night. I asked her if she had a nice weekend (we also went to the pool and then a local fair to ride the rides on Sunday -- that we me petrified of heights climbing up the huge slide stair case to ride down with the Boy Child -- he was fine, I was terrified) and she said: "Pappa, it was the best weekend ever!" Take that, working parent guilt! Hah!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:29 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 As an adolescent girl-child, we went to the AA ball field in my home town quite frequently. The big draw was the San Diego Chicken. The park was always crowded for that particular fowl and I got to sit on the grass just to the left of the opposing team's dugout. Oh. My. Nice. . .um, pants. I'm so glad you had a good time. I've wonderful memories of summer evenings and free hot dog night, myself. Missed ya. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at July 10, 2006 01:00 PM (cyksu)

2 Good show. Isn't it great when they say things like that? That is one bellicose looking fish, I might add!

Posted by: MCNS at July 10, 2006 04:50 PM (QVIhH)

3 Very cool. Maybe I'll run into you at Harbor Yard one of these weekends. I actually haven't even been to a game yet this season, but I intend to soon. I'll be the guy yelling things like "Aw, come on! Yoko Ono has better pitch control!" and "Geeze, this game has more foul balls than a rooster convention!" Good times.

Posted by: Tuning Spork at July 12, 2006 09:05 PM (bjxZN)

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