Walking the Wall

Until
yesterday I have never been to a “real” baseball game, in fact, if you
had asked me yesterday I would have told you that it was on my list of
“things to avoid doing” before I die. My husband, however, has been
trying to get me to go to a game for 17 years so I finally went with my
family and some friends to a Toledo Mud Hens
game. I have to concede that there was a great deal of fun to be had in
just enjoying the atmosphere. Sunday games are big family night games
because they let the kids run the bases
(that’s my daughter in the red) at the end of the game. My son, who
takes after his mother, is much happier in front of a computer,
reading, or building things with his legos and could care less about
baseball; sat in front of us with his friend yelling “hey batter
batter, hey batter batter, SWING” at the top of his lungs and even
attempting the Muddy and Madonna mascot dance which my daughter and
friend did like pros, most especially the shaking the butt part. I even
saw teenagers galore, dressed up in the lastest fashions, together and
alone with families, that on any normal day wouldn’t be caught dead
quacking their hands and shaking their butts with big yellow mud hen
mascots–doing that very thing with great enthusiasm. I was taken in by
the “peanuts and crackerjack” man and wasn’t happy until my husband had
a bag of peanuts and I had a bag of crackerjacks and it couldn’t be
bought from a stand, no, we had to have it from the guy yelling it up
and down the aisles. I can only assume there is some kind of all
American pasttime magic going on here. This was confirmed to me when
during a lull in the game, they brought out a big cardboard canon,
filled it with soft stuffed baseballs, and shot it into the crowd.
There was a young family across the aisle from us: a mom, a dad, and
the sweetest little girl armed with her Madonna (that’s the mudhen, not
the singer) stuffed toy. When the balls came flying, her daddy moved
hell and highwater to catch a ball while she watched with huge eyes and
bated breath. When her dad handed her the ball, I watched a hero being
born, she looked at him as if he had done no less than catch a falling
star for her to put in her pocket. I have a feeling she will remember
that moment for the rest of her life.