It Was Lights Out At The Old Ballgame
Below is a MRR and PLR article in category Arts Entertainment -> subcategory Humor.
Lights Out at the Ballgame
Word Count: 930
Summary:
The arrival of baseball season is synonymous with the onset of spring, rekindling childhood memories and the joys of the national pastime.
Article:
The familiar call of "Let's play ball" signifies the arrival of spring, as if the season exists solely for baseball. The first game breathes life into the world, sweeping away winter's gloom. When Old Man Winter finally steps down, spring steps up to the plate, launching a fresh start.
Baseball, however, is a young person’s game. As we age, we outgrow certain things, like wearing shorts. Seeing an old man in shorts might be an attempt to reclaim youth, but those knobby knees aren't exactly fashionable.
Growing older also means losing free time. Working life demands lifelong commitment, with leisure hours now bearing a price tag. Additionally, the jingling of extra cash in your pocket becomes less frequent. Despite pay raises, expenses often outpace income, and moving to a higher tax bracket sometimes means a smaller paycheck.
One antidote to this hustle and bustle is an afternoon at the ballpark. A good game can melt away the stress of daily life. In my younger days, I played on the field, but now I sit in the stands, cheering for my favorite team.
Being a grandfather offers the joy of watching your grandchildren play ball. Though my knees creak and my pitching arm isn’t what it used to be, watching the next generation play is fulfilling.
A few weeks ago, I watched my granddaughter's first softball game. With a warm cup of coffee, I settled in to enjoy it. But everything changed when she came up to bat. Suddenly, the game became personal.
Nearby, a man began shouting at the pitcher, claiming, “Burn one across the plate; the batter’s a bum!” I had forgotten this element of the game. I quietly suggested to the man that he shouldn’t yell at the kids ?" they were just having fun.
Without glancing my way, he snapped, “Mind your own business, Buster.”
Though not easily provoked, I found this quite irritating. Then he added, “The pitcher’s my daughter.”
With as much dignity as I could gather, I replied, “But the batter is my granddaughter. And granddaughters outrank daughters every time.”
This revelation seemed to stun him. Old Bubba was silent, trying to process this, which gave me a moment of peace.
However, things took a turn when Mrs. Bubba entered the fray. While I wasn’t worried about Bubba, Mrs. Bubba instilled a bit more fear. This highlighted the difference between men and women. Men can argue loudly and then share a coffee. Women, or at least Mrs. Bubba, don’t let go as easily.
She leaned forward and simply said, “Oh yeah?” It wasn’t the words but the left hook that followed which I remember most.
Driving home, I reflected on the words of the Apostle Paul: “I charge thee before God [...] doing nothing by partiality. Lay hands suddenly on no man...” Sometimes, one strike is all it takes.
You can find the original non-AI version of this article here: It Was Lights Out At The Old Ballgame.
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