The Foul Ball

Blessed blessed weekends. Later, a more serious post, that will tell you why I so needed a break, why school was so especially backbreaking these last few days.

But first, a story.

It’s Blessed Saturday. My brother T plays baseball. Little League Baseball. (No I don’t live in Petaluma although we have several baseball-ecstatic relatives who do.) T had a game yesterday at a middle school, and I went bearing my Canon THANK HEAVEN. Or else you wouldn’t have believed me when I told you he chased off a motorcycle gang with a foul ball.

Backstory

Next door, there’s a church, and they were having some sort of Walkathon Fundraiser behind us on the track. Bouncy houses and hundreds of people cheering for their Athletes was enough. But then we heard the revving. They weren’t exactly a motorcycle gang, but more like a christian group of harley owners… all sitting on the opposite side of the field figuring out how to get across to their event, which was behind us. “Awh NU-uh they BETTER not cross our field!”

Thankfully they chose the other way, but they were still sitting on roaring, oil spitting dinosaurs. My brother was up to bat, but procrastinated getting into his stance until they’d mostly passed.

They park their giant stereos and wheels behind us, and T swings.

Foul Ball, right over our heads, “Heads Up!”, and into the sea of Cyclists.

They Shortly disperse thereafter.

‘Atta boy T!

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