baseball

Baseball season has started. Baseball season is the best season to live in this town, according to me. Football is too much work-- too many tourists and alumni, people dress up, the restaurants and bars get crowded with faces I don't recognize, you can't drive anywhere quickly. (And by quickly I mean it takes more than 10 minutes to get from one side of town to the other.) Tailgating is over-rated. Don't let my husband know I said that. Basketball is better because I enjoy the sport myself, except it's cold out, and the stadium here is run-down. The seats are so small that even a normal sized woman like me, standing no more than 5 foot 8, feels crunched and scrunched in those itchy blue upholstered fold-up seats. 

It's starting to warm up outside. It was 65 last night, just a light breeze, enough to wave our conference teams' flags over the outfield wall and stir up the charcoal smoke from the grills. Our friends gather in our area on the terrace behind left-center field, just next to the scoreboard. We put up a tent on sunny days, bring out the coolers of beer and soft-drinks, unfold our camping chairs, and Paul cooks up chicken wings, marinated mushrooms, sausages, and veggie kabobs. The girls bring home-baked cookies and snacks. Several of the guys, including my husband, take it upon themselves to learn everything they can about the opposing team's center-fielder, down to even his girlfriend's name (this is where facebook comes in handy) so if he commits an error he gets more than an ear full of heckling from the crowd. 

The sport itself doesn't make a difference to me. The point is getting together with friends we've so missed while hibernating through the winter. We get outside, get some Vitamin D kicking again, feel the warmth of the sun on our faces again, and feel better. Just one game and I already feel the dullness of winter fading from my body.