Baseball Babes

We’re Red Sox people. Probably inevitable, being from Massachusetts, although most of the city kids that I taught were die-hard Yankees fans (those that followed baseball – city kids were more about basketball), likely because many had ties to New York City.

          I’m still amazed that I pay any attention to baseball at all. But once you’ve learned the players and the rudiments of the game, it really is more interesting than watching paint dry.

          This week we were at Jet Blue Park, the Sox summer training location. On the field was a mixture of rookies and veterans, which I expected, but I was a little surprised by what I saw in the stands.

 

         Babies were everywhere. You always see kids at games, with the hat that Dad just bought them, or the mitt ready for any foul balls that might come their way. But I mean babies.

 

          Diaper bags, strollers, Baby Bjorn carriers.

          One dad climbed past us into the stands with a bottle in his hand, except it was full of milk, not beer, for the infant he was feeding in his arms.

          I couldn’t speak to whether the tiny girl in pink thought Mookie Betts’ steal to second should have been called safe, or if the three-month old two rows back agreed that Tampa Bay needed to switch pitchers when we brought in our lefty Jackie Bradley, but everyone was mellow. Aside from the occasional wail from a bored child, it was a pretty sedate crowd, although that could have been because here in Florida most gatherings have a median age of 53.

          Definitely a change of pace from Boston, with Fenway Park’s crowd of college kids and manic city fans. I didn’t get sloshed by beer once and no one had a B painted on his bare chest.