The David Sunflower Seeds and I Have Broken Up

Can you have too many blog posts on baseball?

Because really?

You can have entirely too many sunflower seeds.  I found that out the hard way last night.  The boy’s baseball game went on and on and on, and I cheered and whooped and hollered like a crazy woman, while I kept spitting seeds.  And the length of the ballgame is directly proportional to the amount of sunflower seeds that Hubs and I devoured.

And I’m pretty sure that the seeds are responsible for the raw spot on my lip and tongue today.

No matter.

The Bats are back on the winning side of the scoreboard, as they played the most nerve-wracking game ever played last night.  The score kept being equal.  3 to 3.  And then 5 to 5.  And then 8 to 8.  And then low!  The opponents had  Babe Ruth come to the plate for them, and Babe smacked a ball so far, it should have had a flight attendant on it.

And that made things 10 to 8 — THEM!

It probably had something to do with the fact that Babe Ruth’s arms were bigger around than the boy’s waist, and they were big with MUSCLE.

And then the anointing of the baseball bats took place, and the Bats (capital B) smacked pitches for all they were worth.  They hit, and they hit, and they hit!

In the end, we plum shut Babe Ruth and his team down, and we won, 17 to 12.

And that just goes to show y’all that big biceps don’t always equal WIN.

I was hoarse by the end of the game, and I could no longer feel my tongue, due to the salt lick I’d sidled up next to.

The boy hit three singles last night, and then the pitcher let one loose exactly like Nuke LaLoosh from Bull Durham would have done, and he plum HIT MY BOY IN THE  KNEE!

And that meant we took a walk.

It also meant that Mama shot the pitcher The Stink Eye of Doom for a while.

Thankfully, the injury was just a flesh wound that turned into a nice bruise this morning, but Hubs and I assured the boy that chicks plum dig bruises.

He was not impressed with THAT, because he is not impressed with chicks right now.  He is still convinced that girls are out to cause him harm and give him germs.

I hope he continues with that attitude until he’s 30.

The boy managed to circle the diamond three full times last night, and he kept his cleats tied throughout the entire game.

For him, that’s like doing the bonus question on your homework assignment, because tying the cleats is never a giant concern for the boy.

Teegan pitched for us last night, and he rocked the pitching mound.

The boy played 3rd base last night, and when he snagged one of Babe Ruth’s 1,000 mph grounders on a hop and held him to a single, I nearly burst a lung and a major blood vessel in my head screeching with joy.

(After the game, the boy announced that he was battered all to pieces.  He told us that the pitcher had dinged his knee up, and grabbing Babe Ruth’s hit in his glove had made his hand go numb.)

We all loved Louden’s stance on second base.  Who says you can’t crouch like a lineman in football when you’re ready to run?

When Hubs wasn’t busy spitting seeds or cheering loudly for the Bats or checking his phone for the score in the final game of the Stanley Cup series, he took pictures of the moon.

Through the fence.

(For the record, we were the GUESTS last night.)

And then, at precisely 9:50 PM, the game was (FINALLY! PRAISE THE LORD!) over.  The scoreboard said Bats, 17; Other Team, 12.

We had some very happy boys, as Louden, the boy, Kellen and Enzo all scrunched themselves together for a snapshot.

On the way home, the boy asked, “Hey, Mom, do you think that Louden weighs seventy pounds yet?”

Yes, Greg Heffly, I think that Louden probably does.

And then!

The Stanley Cup didn’t go to Canada last night, which made Hubs skip and smile and whistle with pure joy all night long.

So…you know…it was a totally GOOD Wednesday evening.

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