Apart from the uncomfortable wooden bleachers, the brisk wind ripping across my bald head and some indeterminable smell wafting from below, the experience of spending countless late nights at the ballfield is really quite thrilling.
If I say that enough times, I'm sure I'll start believing it.
The season is still new, and this is our first time diving into softball with our local league. The coaches are great. The players are awesome. The league administrators are superb. The families and fans are terrific.
But 7:45 p.m. start times are for the birds (or possums or vampires or other nocturnal creatures). Most of our games are scheduled for then, but they may start late like our first game which began about 8:10 p.m. Doing the math, we quickly figured this could take us to 10:00 or beyond.
Really, if it were the afternoon, I could sit through 38 innings and love every minute of it, but once the sun sets out here in the country this time of year, the sky gets as dark at 9:30 p.m. as it is at 3:00 a.m.
PLUS, how can one fully enjoy his daughter's softball game while constantly worrying about whether or not the DVR started recording "Battlestar Galactica" at 10:00 sharp?Fortunately, these girls only play six innings...or until the rapture, whichever comes first.
About the bottom of the 4th inning, the end of the world started looking pretty good, and I thought I heard the four horsemen of the apocalypse in the distance.
Turned out to be a bunch of parents at the next field cheering arrogantly that their game was over.