There are a few perfect sounds in the world, including: the first cry of a newborn baby, the trickling of a mountain stream far away from civilization, and the crack of a young boy's bat hitting a baseball right at the perfect sweet spot.
I went to my son's first scrimage on Saturday and was reminded of how much I secretly love baseball. Now, what I am about to say is not to make all of my family members choking to death in the bitter cold Utah inversion feel bad, but wow, what a beautiful day.
I walked up to the park where people huddled togther seeking the cool, slender shadows of scattered trees, almost like campers grouped around the warmth of a fire at night. Finding a shady spot, I sat back and watched my son throw pitches from the mound. Every time the ball left his fingers, my heart stalled until that little leather-covered ball sped across the plate, narrowly missing the smack of the bat. Yet whether it was a strike-out or a hit (see the comment of the perfect sound), I still felt a thrill.
There's just something about the combination of sunshine, neighborhood crowds, dirt, chalk, and a baseball, that makes me fall in love with the game. It's the highlight of my summer Saturdays. And the best part of basebal in San Diego, we can play all year round--we don't have to wait until Opening Day!
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