Go Sox! (Pawsox, I mean…)

Yesterday Jan & I stopped everything important and went to an afternoon baseball game with two old friends.

And I don’t mean that overpriced extravaganza at Fenway (consider an appropriate genuflection taking place with the mention of the holy name here, but only a small one…). No, I mean a delightful afternoon at McCoy Stadium in our new home town Pawtucket.

The Sox steamrolled over the Leigh Valley’s Iron Pigs (what can be better than a league that includes teams named the Iron Pigs and the Mud Hens?). And hurray for the home town team.

But, you know, it barely matters.

Last year or so, I recall an opposing team member making an extraordinary play, diving to catch the ball, and just, just doing it. The stadium erupted with applause, paused, recalled they’re supposed to be on the other side, and threw out a few half-hearted boos…

It’s a game.

It’s a couple of hours with old friends, hot dogs, fluid refreshment, and an esoteric dance on a magical field.

Nothing more.

And nothing less…