What a Ball!

It was a real yes-siree-good-ole-American kind of weekend, complete with hot dogs and baseball.

The boy and I went to the Indians/Cardinals game Friday and enjoyed the win (and some vertigo) from the cheap seats.

And yesterday, my sister and I took my nephew to a farm-team game with the Lake County Captains and the Lakewood Blueclaws, which, believe it or not, was a far more exciting time than the pro game.

First of all, a player got ejected for yelling at the ball. Seriously. The ball landed on the third base foul line, and the guy literally got down on all fours in the dust and started blowing on the ball and yelling at it, a la Happy Gilmore. Apparently the ump didn't find it nearly as amusing as I did.

Then a player broke a bat on a hit, and wood went flying everywhere (that's what she said).

Then a player got knocked out after colliding with another player.

And then I had chili cheese fries.

Plus, they let the kids run the bases after the game, which was all sorts of cute. The day got an A+.

This weekend took me back to when I was growing up and played softball. While I was no Shin-Soo "Coo Coo a Choo" Choo, I did enjoy running around and hitting things.

Here are some low-quality pictures of pictures of my first year playing (my scanner is schizo); though they're a bit fuzzy, I think it's the last documentation of my real hair color. I was about eight or so.





"Moose" wasn't my nickname (fortunately) -- the local Moose lodge sponsored us. I still have the shirt, which is into its second decade. Now, though, the only one that can fit into it is the dog, though he does so begrudgingly and only with the aid of peanut butter cookies.

"If I had thumbs, I would cut you for this."

In the Comments section, tell me what your favorite relics from your childhood are and/or if you like to dress up your dog.