The days at RFK are coming to a close. We won't be watching post-season action involving our home team, because well, that's life for me in baseball. Frankly, I wouldn't know what to do if a team I actually cared about was playing in October. The last time this happened for me was 1985. That was a long time ago.
All in all, Connor has enjoyed the season. He's certainly learned about the finer points of the game, which means he can dig through my bag,
looking for sunglasses or other entertaining items, and he fully understands the purpose of the concession stands and the lovely folks who come around bearing treats during the game. On Wednesday, he shared my lemonade, gobbled some popcorn, and then decided he needed some french fries. (And I wonder why he's hit the growth chart, finally!) At one point during Wednesday's game, we went up a few rows and a guy behind me actually remarked "that's the popcorn eating kid! Man...he made that stuff look good" because apparently he had watched the spectacle known as Connor shoving fistfulls of popcorn in his mouth whenever someone behind us will take notice. Prior to arriving at the game, Ed and Connor had been walking around and a random lady bought him a pack of peanut butter M&Ms from a street vendor, just because he was cute, I guess. Ed tried to pay this kind stranger, but she wouldn't take his money.
But most importantly, on Wednesday, a friend of mine gave me his law firm's tickets to the game. These are great seats - just 6 rows back from the visitor's dugout. Miraculously, we were on time for the game, and that was a good thing. As the visiting team was exiting the field after pre-game warm-up, the shortstop had a ball in his hand and as he looked up into the crowd to see who he could toss it to, Ed stood up, pointed at Connor and said "little guy here". And that baseball player - in mid-throw - changed the direction of his intended throw and tossed the ball right to Connor. Ed caught it, gave the ball to Connor, and Connor lit up. You see, like every other toddler I know, he loves balls. And Ed and I, well, we've always dreamed of getting a ball from a major league player, but we've never been so lucky. Not even the time I went to the San Diego ballpark on my birthday and anniversary and sat close enough that an outfielder could've tossed me one. Ed and I hollered, but we never got a ball.
Connor held onto the ball for a while, but Ed and I were seriously concerned that he would toss it (along with all of our dreams of owning a ball tossed around by an actual major league baseball player) back onto the field. But the next morning, the first words out of Connor's mouth to me were "Connor got a ball from a baseball player! Did we forget to bring the baseball and the baseball glove home last night?" "No Connor, we didn't forget. It's sitting on the dining room table."
And here's a little dance party in the seats!