"My Boy Hit Big Balls with Bat!"

I have never cared much for baseball; sitting in the stands is always great fun but I cannot remember the last time I sat down to watch a game on TV. I don't really follow any particular team and couldn't possibly care less about the curses of Bambino and Goat.

I do, however, enjoy those late Summer nights on my porch when Columbian Park shines out like a beacon and echos with boisterous energy. The laughter of kids sneaking away from the game to steal a smooch from their sweetie, the crack of the bat, and the roar of proud parents in the crowd are all sounds I enjoy for some reason. It is that time of year again: time for the Colt World Series.

For one month in August each year, my little corner of the universe is the place to be for all things baseball (for 15 to 16-year-olds, anyway). I walked over to the Frozen Custard for a supa-yummo Vanilla Diet Coke and met a tiny woman in a huge T-shirt that said the word "LAOS", and nothing else. I asked her about baseball games and she replied, "my boy hit big balls with bat!" We shared a good laugh, high-fived, and we went our separate ways. Wow. Laos. That is one dedicated mamma.

For the next couple of weeks, I will have multiple chances to sit outside, forget this oppressive heat I hope), and watch the lights. I'll take in the sights, meet people who traveled half-way around the world to watch a game, take in the sounds of cracking bats, hear the cheers of happy moms and dads, and bid farewell to a very long Summer, indeed.