Root, root, root for the home team

Last night, on B’s ninth day, her parents and four grandparents dressed her in her special Red Sox shirt and red gDiapers

…and took her to her first ballgame. Have I mentioned how smart she is? She learned immediately to emulate her maternal grandfather’s inarticulate sounds of dismay and outrage at bad calls by the umps.

It was, despite the umps—unbelievably bad—a lovely evening at the park.

With a good crowd.

And the home team Honkers came from behind to win.

My job with B has already been assigned. I’m to teach her how to throw a baseball, one of my few competences. But I like to start by teaching children the fundamental concepts first. Have I mentioned how smart B is? By her third or fourth day, she understood the basics: three strikes, four balls, three outs, nine innings, World Series winners since 1903. Simple stuff like that. Last night, although she hasn’t quite got it yet, she was trying to come to grips with the infield fly rule.

Don’t worry. She’ll have it by next week. Have I mentioned how smart she is?

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