I come from a big family of baseball fans. Yankee fans. Hardcore. They have Yankee watches, Christmas ornaments, Yankee credit cards, towels, doormats, slippers, socks, boxers, mugs, so many books, baseball cards, hats of all kinds, one license plate, countless shirts. We plan family get togethers around games and consider those who have <gasp> married a Sox fan "mixed marriages".
I was a theater major.
While it's true that as a wee toddler, I would yell "Go Go Rankees!" from my crib, I never really caught the fever. It wasn't for lack of trying on my family's part. They tried to teach me the game. They really did a lot of explaining, and I'm sure they did a very nice job. But all I really learned is that when the runner guy is stuck between two bases, it's called a pickle. I thought that was really funny. I still like the sound of a game on the radio. It's lovely for lulling me into a nice nap. So, it's become a bit of a personal amusement to call the October classic the "Super Series" and drive my family crazy. Perhaps it's the mischievous nature of being the youngest child. My twin sisters and brother were All Stars in Little League and went on to be great softball players and Little League coach... Did I mention that I was a theater major?
The summer before I went to fist grade, my father, working on constructing a bank, fell off the staging. He broke his neck. Miraculously, he survived. Miraculously, he can walk. Miraculously, he went on to continue working for many years later. As you can imagine, it was life changing. One of the changes was toward strengthening his faith which is why, as the youngest child by eight years, I was enrolled in Catholic school for that first grade year. It did, however, slow him down from his baseball coaching. And it was impossible to play catch with me while in traction. So, the baseball bug never bit me. I was okay with that.
But recently, I've begun to notice that my darling daughter is having a difficult time throwing. [Oh, it's taking all of my energy not to say "throws like a girl." Oh, er...] She's not great at catching either. And when friends came over to play a little wiffle ball, she smacked herself in the back of the head with the bat. Something had to be done.
So, when my brother called to say that he had two extra tickets to our local minor league team, I pounced! I had never been to a professional game before. I was thrilled! We had a marvelous time. Nora even payed attention a little bit -the adorable antics of her 2 year old cousin was a bit of a distraction! Our team didn't win. But what a delight to sing "Take Me Out To the Ballgame" in the actual crowd (NOT the audience!) I learned about the rarity of triples, to watch the players and not always the ball, to do the wave, and how much fun a live game is. There may be hope for Nora yet... even if she becomes a theater major.

The baseball tee is in the backyard, and she's been singing Centerfield all day.