It's 9AM
Six Minutes left in the game.
We were up by two and they had last at bat.
It was inning after inning of a fight.
We scored. They scored.
We got three up, three down. They got three up, three down.
The Championship was on the line.
It was the loudest I’d heard our new set of parents on this tiny little group of athletes.
Hell, it was the loudest I’d been all fall season.
Northwest Arkansas was worth it.
The home of the Hogs was supposed to be hot and sticky, with one last gasp before cooler weather came in from the West.
A storm was approaching some time after the game, the same one that dumped a half foot a snow on trail runners in Utah that had to be found by search and rescue.
The same storm that promised Oklahoma tornados, and a wet drive back to the house once the tournament was done.
But the Ozarks had other ideas.
Those tiny little mountains thrust up against a clear blue sky and held the storm at bay while we finished up the final game under the lights.
Those same mountains kept up a steady breeze that washed away almost all of the humidity, and made two long days at the ballpark more than pleasant.
It made it damn close to being perfect.
There are so few almost perfect days that every one we get must be savored and treasured.
Cool breeze, warm sun, good people.
Something cold to drink, even if in this case it was a coke.
We met the old baseball family while we waited for our new family’s game to start.
We watched the boys we had known since toddlers fight for a win of their own.
We saw nephews on their young team win their last championship ring in coach pitch before spring moves them up into a new game of kid pitching.
And we saw old friends who have moved north and their son who shared a daycare crib with #10 since they were both barely crawling.
I watched people.
Kid sports brings out the worst in some.
Young dads who didn’t quite make it, screaming at their kids, other coaches or umpires because their kid has the “talent.”
The sauce.
I watched even more examples of who we are, or at least who we should be.
A lost little kid having a meltdown because his ring pop fell in the dirt and he couldn’t find his mom.
Four parents stepped up to watch him and help him find her, despite the sobs making him unable to talk.
And someone stepping in with a new ring pop to solve the problem.
Boys on rival teams staying and watching and cheering each other own while they ate burgers and ballpark hot dogs and candy.
Coaches crossing fields to tell little players from opposite teams “Great job.”
We were near a walking trail that runs through three cities, green and interconnected.
It was fun to watch the walkers and runners and bikers and wonder where the adventure would take them on that almost perfect day.
I just hoped yours was as good as mine.
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Sounds like a great time was had by all 😊