SUnday baseball

Another park. Another parking lot. Another game. Another day.

The rescheduled all-star game on a Sunday afternoon. Miles slides into his sliders, hauls his baseball bag over his shoulder and slams the backdoor.

“Have fun.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Miles walks toward the far corner of the park. Past the batting tee, whack, thwack, whack, thwack. Past the bullpen, whump, thwump, whump, thwump. He drops his bag in the visitors’ dugout, grabs his glove and joins the warmups. Ten minutes late. As usual.

The umpires hang out in the parking lot. Equipment strewn around the back of a tailgate on a white-cap pickup. They talk shop. Calls they made. Calls they missed. Kids they called. Kids they miss.

The younger kids chase birds, balls and butterflies. Their times will come.

Parents steal a few moments of work, a phone call, an email, a quick post on their blog.

Time to play ball.