Bobble Heads

I cannot put into words what I felt this weekend going to a Saturday night and a Sunday afternoon baseball game with Bill and Frank. Their interest in baseball surpasses mine by an infinite amount, but I still cannot think of anywhere I would rather be than sitting between the two of them when the closer for the Royals comes out of the bullpen and Frank punches his fist in the air and Bill smiles quietly and the whole stadium stands. I didn't even know that Frank had a favorite closing pitcher.

I am never on time to anything, but I can somehow make it to a baseball ballpark two hours early to make sure I get my free doll (they only gave out 20,000!) and to make sure that my son gets to meet former Negro League Players and get their autographs and so we can watch the visiting team have their batting practice and maybe catch a foul ball or luck out and have one tossed up on purpose.

Baseball is about slow paces and fast movement. It is about standing still and being ready for what's next and being able to respond quickly. I get that. I don't, however, get the statistics part. Other than if I want my free Kansas City Monarchs hat, I better be in the first 20,000 that gets to the stadium.