I caught a couple games of the Seattle Mariners' series with the Texas Rangers this week.
I know. It's only April, a bit early for a civilized outing to the ball park, especially up here in the soggy Pacific Northwest. But when my daughter's favorite team comes to town, we go, no matter what.
And anyway, t's a well-documented fact that I love me some major league baseball.
The long-standing rivalries between the clubs
The slow, lyrical pacing of a leisurely game.
The sudden bursts of adrenaline from a home run or a double play
The sustained rally of an inning full of solid base hits and strong base running.
The always-present suspense of knowing that with each pitch of the ball, anything might happen.
I'm also a huge fan of the baseball culture:
Honoring our country before the first pitch.
Filling in my score card.
Listening to the vendors hawk their wares
Singing my heart out during the seventh inning stretch
And oh my gosh, the smell of those garlic fries is pure heaven.
But I must confess that on top of all those sports-specific pleasantries, I may most appreciate the simple joy of spending a few hours sitting outside under a baby blue summer sky.
Or in the case of this week, a sunny but shockingly chilly mid-spring sky.
Monday night's game was rough - despite my hat, mittens, boots, and layers of sweaters, I shivered through the game.
Tuesday was even colder. At forty-eight degrees, the air hung heavy and cold, damp from the day's rain. Luckily, I was prepared. Wrapping myself up like a burrito in a fleecy blanket, I managed to stayed warm as toast for all nine innings.
And best of all, on both nights, after the game had ended and I was home tucked in bed, I slept with the wonderful weariness that only comes from spending hours in the fresh air.
Magical things happen under those baby blue ballpark skies and my summer baseball mojo is off to a great start.
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