Tonight the Tuna clan spent a grueling couple of hours sitting outside in the early evening sun accompanied by a gently blowing breeze watching Nephew Tuna play baseball. He is part of a 2nd grade league, so all the kids are however old second-graders are these days (that's too much math after 10pm so you figure it out yourself) and they play machine-pitch, which I learned tonight is one step up the athletic food chain from coach-pitch. The rules also vary in terms of how long you get to be at bat. You get five missed swings instead of three. There are no balls and strikes (just hits and misses) and if you hit foul balls you can be there all night until you either hit a fair ball or miss five times. Thankfully the last rule change is the game either lasts six full innings (even if the home team is ahead at the top of the 6th) or lasts until it's time to be done, which tonight came in at the one hour forty-five minute mark.
Despite the fact that Babe NephewTuna Ruth batted in the first run for his team, they pretty much got clobbered tonight. As the game reached the last half of what would be the last inning (bottom of the fourth) the coaches were making sure all the infielders and outfielders were still thinking baseball, were standing in the right place, weren't playing with bugs in the dirt, had their game faces on and were ready to go. "You ready outfield? You ready infield? Game on! Game on!"
Suddenly the pitcher yelled, "HEY MOM! WHAT'S FOR SUPPER?"
It wasn't exactly Hey, batter batter but it did give a whole new meaning to Home Plate.
Maybe he went home and had Peanut Butter Jelly with a baseball bat...
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