Bob, on Sunday we took you to your first baseball game. I’m not sure if you know this.
Here's what you do know:
You like hot dogs.
When it is 97°F in the parking lot, daddy sweats a lot. He does not want to carry you up the stairs to our seats but he will to stop your whining and that whole sudden-loss-of-leg-muscles routine. This will cause daddy to sweat more. You will then complain loudly that daddy is too sweaty to carry you.
They are not really “Giants.”
When the crowd starts yelling, you repeatedly chime in with, “Go baseball bats!”
Dodger is a funny word.
That free Webkinz frog they gave you at the entrance is, according to mama, “not a weapon.” You do not know what a “weapon” is but apparently it is not a frog.
You like chocolate malt ice cream cups.
You do, do not, do, do not, do, do not, no, no, no do not want a Dodger baseball cap, except that you want one and why can’t you have one? Don’t want one. Want it. No.
There is lots of grass down there and sand rakes.
At baseball there is a part where you sing about baseball.
40 minutes is a long time to sit on daddy’s sweaty lap. You will convey this by squirming mercilessly.
You like popcorn.
You like throwing popcorn.
According to daddy it’s time to go home because “two and a half innings is long enough.”
You love baseball.