Boys of Summer

It finally happened.  The day my little man has spent at least 3 out of his 4-year life span waiting for.

Baseball.

His own actual team!

We played on the A's, in a league that cost a bit more, but involved coaches pitching and players with a definite interest in baseball.  The kids on the team were ages 4-6, and Mac finally got to test out his skills.  Turns out, he plays like a 6 year old ... with about three times the enthusiasm.

Belle and I typically watched from a hill above the field. There was a park AND a sand pit, generally full of cute little girls for her to follow around and mimic.  And she did.  Not a shy bone in her body.

Mark couldn't make it to the first couple games because he didn't have the game schedule in time to get his work schedule around.  I texted him minute-by-minute updates, and his only reply was, "This is killing me not to be there."

He didn't miss a single game after that.  Scheduled his patients around his boy's games.

Mac became really good at introducing himself.  "Hi, I'm Mac.  MacAlister Raymond Gunn.  I love baseball.  I'm playing for the A's right now, but my favorite team is the Angels.  My number is 7 and Mike Trout's number is 27.  What's your name?"

He then got his team cheering for each batter as they went up.

On Mark's days off, we came to this field early in the day and practiced hitting and fielding.  These boys would go on for hours while Belle and I shagged balls, ran down the hill, played on the play set, and even took turns hitting ourselves.

I can't believe how social Mac is when he's playing baseball.  He told every player and every coach about his favorite team, players, positions, pitches, etc. as he ran around the bases.  When he played in the field, he would coach the other team's base runners, pointing them in the right direction.  "Hey, third base is that way!"  "Your team hit it!  You've got to go!"  "Oh wait that's a foul ball, you'd better get back here if you want to be safe!"

And if there was no one on base, between plays he would jump in the air, pretend to make an incredible catch, and a swooping tag.  That all followed with a fist pump, usually.

This boy!  His love of baseball blows my mind.  Sure, Mark and I both played and loved it, but we have agreed that there is no way we were this interested (for me ever, for Mark not until his teenage years), especially not as a four-year old.  This boy has got dedication and passion flowing out of those little fingertips.

It's really fun to watch.

Oh, and we all developed a passion for the post-game snow cones.  We are big fans of the Cal Ripkin league.