Back in the Bleachers

Our city has a minor league baseball team. Nobody's quite sure what the mascot is supposed to be; it's some kind of fuzzy green fish. Last year, the games were played without fans. This April, they opened the stadium again, and my daughter and I went on opening night.

We sat in the bleachers behind first base with hot dogs and a giant pretzel. The grass was impossibly green. The organist played "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" so loudly that my daughter put her hands over her ears and laughed.

The fuzzy green fish ran up and down the aisles throwing T-shirts. A dad caught a foul ball in his baseball cap and gave it to the little boy next to him. In the seventh inning, everyone stood up and sang, slightly off-key, and I realized I had tears in my eyes for no clear reason.

Our team lost, eight to two. Nobody cared. When the fireworks went off after the game, my daughter leaned against my shoulder and said, "Can we come every week?" We have season tickets now.