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Playing the Field

By {screen_name}
Ahhh, the joys of JUCO. My son loves going to JUCO games. Which is pretty odd since he hates baseball. He makes no bones about saying just how much he hates it, at every chance he gets, including sitting next to me and my S.O. in the stands. “Baseball is gay. Baseball players are people who can’t play any other sport. Baseball shouldn’t even be called a sport.? Now, I•m the first to admit that I think watching baseball ranks only slightly above golf on the boredom scale. At least baseball players have some athletic ability. Most golfers do not. That’s why golf shirts are stretchy. But I digress. So, my son’s mostly best friend called him last Monday and told him to meet him at JUCO. I had a meeting to attend that evening so I told Alex I would drop him off. As we’re pulling into the parking lot, Alex called his buddy to find out where he was in the stadium, and if the previous game was over yet. His bud didn’t know if a game was still going on. Being the patient person that I am, I took the phone and asked if there were players on the field. “Ummm, I don’t know.? •Whudayamean, you don’t know? Look out on the field and see.? •Ummm, okay, hold on, I’ll go up there and look.? Now I•ve never really been accused of being naïve, but it would have been a completely fair accusation at that point. I actually thought a 14-year-old would be sitting in the stands watching the game, would be able to see the field and would know whether or not there was a game on. Holy wake up call! I was about to let my precious baby slither off into the twilight and enter the misty, murky nether world known as “Under the Bleachers???!! There is no good that could come from that! Evil teenage girls flaunting bellies, boobs and come-hither smiles? Disheveled teenage boys with pockets full of marijuana, Jack Daniels and condoms? Oh wait, that was my adolescence. At any rate, I was double parked in the VIP zone, and late for my meeting. •Alex,? I said in my I•m serious about this voice, “I expect you to behave like a gentleman. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do if I were there to see it.? A nun once told me that. Maybe it would work on him. I fetched him promptly at 10:00 p.m., and he was in one piece, apparently unharmed by the evil teenage girls. I detected no suspicious aromas about his person. So as punishment for having done nothing wrong I dragged him up to the press box where together we enjoyed a bird•s eye view of the fireworks. (Thanks Patti!) He wants to go to JUCO again this evening. There is no point in reminding him how much he hates that gay game. He won’t be anywhere close to where he can see it. P.S. Hey boss, if you're reading this, I was just kidding about the golf thing.

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