This morning I accompanied my sweetie to a softball tournament he was playing in. It’s been at least 5 years (and maybe even upwards of 10) since I watched him play in a game; and now that my yoga teacher training program is done and I have some open time in my schedule, I thought “Hey, why not go and watch?” I want to support my sweetie when I can, and this seemed like a fun way to see my boy ‘in action’.
The event was semi-hilarious. My sweetie plays with an “E-League” team (read: the lowest rank a team can have), so most of the guys are at the game to have fun, take a whack at a ball, run around a little bit, and enjoy the camaraderie of friends (and maybe a little beer, too).
A few other wives/girlfriends were at the game as well; and though the overall ‘cheering section’ was small, I had a very fun time yelling “Nice hit!” and “You got it, you got it!” and “Dig in – run run run run run!” at the action on the field. I enjoyed chatting with a few of the other spectators and players, and laughed at some of the banter between the teams. (Two of my favorite comments overheard: 1) “Hey guys, hit the ball to center field; that guy is totally wasted.” and 2) “Yo, Joey, watch the language – they’ll kick us out if you don’t clean it up!” Awesome.)
But perhaps above all else, I delighted in watching my sweetie do a super job on the field, and play a really great game. He made some nice hits and some impressive catches; he always hustled and never complained; he supported his fellow teammates with positive comments; he was a good athlete, and a great sport.
I was so proud of him, and am so honored to be with him.
Nice game, honey. I had a fantastic time!