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Pitch, Phillies, and bats
I ran out to the store a couple of days ago and when I got back my husband had taught the kids to ask, "Mommy, can we stay up and watch the Phillies please?"
I said no.
Three year olds who the day before asked me if the bats they use in baseball say "squeak, squeak" and live in caves, do not need to stay up until midnight for a game they really wouldn't follow.
I grew up here, but was not really raised in a sporting family. I was ten when the Phils won the series in 1980, I remember classmates who were so into it they wore their T shirts every day. I knew names, heard about it in school... but I was more book worm than baseball fan back then.
My hubbie is, was and always has been a fan. Not a watch every game guy - but certainly a watch the series guy. So we pulled the couch up closer to the TV, turned off all of the lights except the orange ones I strung over the mantle for the season, and I watched with him. I watched as the rain got heavier and heavier and the red painted man in back of home plate got funnier and funnier to check in on. I asked him who everyone was, and started to get a feel for what the team was up to and what they could do.
I could see, novice that I am, that the team has chops. I did watch Ichiro and the Mariners when I lived in Seattle, after they built the new stadium. I do understand how a game can become more than just a game when so many people get involved and the energy builds around an event. And the Phillies were solid. I could tell they deserved to win, and so I was actually disappointed when the game was called. I found myself again disappointed when it was delayed through the next day.
Last night, both suffering from bad colds, we again put the kids to bed without much fuss, and then watched the red faced man take his spot behind home plate. Pitch lay at our feet, wagged her tail from time to time. Only got up for the fireworks that went off in our neighborhood around 10:15. I was on the edge of my seat by the end. It was enough to make any mother proud... enough to make the place really feel like home.
I said no.
Three year olds who the day before asked me if the bats they use in baseball say "squeak, squeak" and live in caves, do not need to stay up until midnight for a game they really wouldn't follow.
I grew up here, but was not really raised in a sporting family. I was ten when the Phils won the series in 1980, I remember classmates who were so into it they wore their T shirts every day. I knew names, heard about it in school... but I was more book worm than baseball fan back then.
My hubbie is, was and always has been a fan. Not a watch every game guy - but certainly a watch the series guy. So we pulled the couch up closer to the TV, turned off all of the lights except the orange ones I strung over the mantle for the season, and I watched with him. I watched as the rain got heavier and heavier and the red painted man in back of home plate got funnier and funnier to check in on. I asked him who everyone was, and started to get a feel for what the team was up to and what they could do.
I could see, novice that I am, that the team has chops. I did watch Ichiro and the Mariners when I lived in Seattle, after they built the new stadium. I do understand how a game can become more than just a game when so many people get involved and the energy builds around an event. And the Phillies were solid. I could tell they deserved to win, and so I was actually disappointed when the game was called. I found myself again disappointed when it was delayed through the next day.
Last night, both suffering from bad colds, we again put the kids to bed without much fuss, and then watched the red faced man take his spot behind home plate. Pitch lay at our feet, wagged her tail from time to time. Only got up for the fireworks that went off in our neighborhood around 10:15. I was on the edge of my seat by the end. It was enough to make any mother proud... enough to make the place really feel like home.
Labels: Phillies, world series
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6:48 AM
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