We stayed at the ball park last night, through the 7th inning stretch. Mainly because The Talker has been really wanting to catch one of the bean-bag baseballs that the groundscrew throw into the stands before the bottom of the 7th inning starts. He wants one, because it has Spike on it.
He was the only kid for 10 rows. Sitting on the front row. I just knew it was his lucky night. The goobers throwing the balls talked to him and held the balls out to him, but they never threw him one. ARGH! He is three for Pete's sake. Don't tease him with the freakin' thing.
So he cried when they ran out of balls. Several fans sitting around us were jeering the staff as they left. That was pretty funny. But The Talker was really sad. A guy who caught one of the gimme balls asked the boy if he wanted the ball.
The Talker is usually shy around strangers, but I guess he saw his chance. "Yes, Thank you. Thank you for the ball. Daddy he caught me a ball!"
And instantly, mine was a happy boy, again.