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Baseball Boy Watches Baseball

“I am the Baseball Boy,” I declared proudly while witnessing a minor league baseball game being played by the Nashville Sounds, an Oakland Athletics Triple-A Affiliate, at the brand new ballpark, The First Tennessee Park, in Nashville, the capital of TN, the 16th state to join the Union in 1796 only later to join the Confederacy in 1861 then back to the Union after the war.

After my self-appointed nickname was gifted into the earholes of the Sounds game attendees, I witnessed no objections. So it has been said, so it shall be. I am the Baseball Boy.

Turning my attention to the on-field action, I became affixed on the baseball itself. The pitcher throws it. The catcher catches it. Or the hitter hits it. And the fielders catch it. Sometimes the fielder then throws it to other fielders to try to get the hitter, who is now a runner, out. If the hitter hits it out of play, it is either a foul ball, or a home run ball. In that case, it is up to the fans to catch it.

I am a fan. I am always ready to catch a ball hit into the stands shall I be called upon to do so by the glorious and forgiving God. I am the Baseball Boy.

My attention given to the baseball is disrupted by a nearby man. “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOT DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDOGS,” he says timidly.

I raise my hand. I would like a hot dog. Because I am the Baseball Boy.

I pay the man with an untraceable, unmarked $20 bill. He asks no questions. I wink in acknowledgement of his discretion. I let him keep the change for his cooperation.

I begin to eat my hot dog as I watch the baseball game. I finish eating my hot dog as I watch the baseball game. Time passes us all.

The 7th inning comes and before the bottom half of it, it is time for something universally known in the baseball community as the “7th Inning Stretch”. I get up from my seat and stretch. I am the Baseball Boy.

The next two and a half innings are fun. I enjoy what happens. Then the game ends. It was a good baseball game. No hits were recorded by either team.

The end.

Other Upcoming Baseball Boy Titles:
Baseball Boy Plays Baseball
Baseball Boy Meets Football Girl
Baseball Boy Has a Catch With Uncle Sam
Baseball Boy Becomes a Baseball For a Day
Baseball Boy Tries Scientology
Baseball Boy Swings, And Hits It Off With A Lovely Couple
Baseball Boy: Strike 3: You're Outta The House Because You Have Become A Baseball Man And It Is Time For You To Live On Your Own

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