Okay, it’s Thanksgiving in my native country so I should be posting about turkey or Pilgrims or football, at least. But here I am writing about baseball.
As you may know, my son started playing on an elementary school team (not his school’s, but the closest one to our house). The other day, he was asked to help out another team that doesn’t have enough players for a tournament. They had a game Monday morning, and I finally got to watch my son play baseball for the first time.
My daughter went along, too. The plan was that we would watch from the car. It would have been too arduous to get her into the stands, and we forgot her wheelchair anyway. Needless to say, she was completely disinterested.
So anyhow, the game was played on a dirt baseball field in Western Tokushima. There was a cemetery on the edge of the field, just outside the fence. At first I worried that someone might hit the ball over the fence and disturb the tombstones, but then I realized that ten year old boys don’t have that kind of strength.
From time to time, a baseball mother would bring a cup of hot tea (on a tray!) to the third base coach.
My son managed to get a hit, a run, and steal three bases. Not bad for a mercenary, eh? The team advanced to the semi-finals. My son will be practicing with them for the rest of the week, and then I suppose he’ll go back to his own team, which is overcrowded, and where he has few chances to play.