Play Ball by David Balcom

“Dad, can we please go now? I’m ready.” “No the game starts in four hours.” “But…please.” “Fine.” My seven year old body twitched in anticipation and I dashed to the car in a blur. My dad and I had stayed up all night waiting to bid on tickets online. I fell asleep long before the outcome, but woke to my dad telling me we got five tickets and I would attend my first Red Sox game that day. I got to bring my two friends, Austin and Evan, and their dad came to. So that morning I put on my Red Sox; shirt, shorts, hat, and wristband. I nagged to leave like a hungry baby for hours until my dad gave the okay. I jumped in the car and we drove to my friend’s house. We picked them up ten minutes later and started the long trip to Boston from Rhode Island. The ride seemed to take days because my excitement was building. I bounced in my seat, and chattered with my friends. I finally saw the giant multi-colored tank, with the Asian man’s face staring back at me from the blue. I knew we were close. As we approached I could smell popcorn, sausage, and hot sweaty men. The old men were like children waiting for a theme park to open. They were waiting in line, agitated by the slow turnstile. My dad found a parking spot and slid the car in with ease. We all hopped out and let the hot sun beat down on us. We walked down Lansdowne Street to buy peanuts and sausages. With my lunch in my hand, I got in the line for the turnstile right away. The line was moving, but I was backed up pretty far. I ate my sausage as the mustard was slipping down my Red Sox shirt. I listened to the people chirping around and you could sense the excitement throughout. I finally got up to the turnstile and handed the man my ticket. The turnstile grudgingly opened the park to me. As I walked in, blinded by the sights and smells, I waited for the others. I stood there waiting and an old man grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the side. My dad ran over and snatched me back from the man. My dad asked, “What are you doing?” The man was wearing a yellow shirt and my dad relaxed as he understood the man clearly worked for the park. “There isn’t anyone to say play ball before the game… Does your kid wanna do it?” I was hesitant and overwhelmed, but my dad answered without even looking at me and said “Yes.” An hour later, I met the man at a special gate and he led us onto the field. My dad and I scooped up some dirt into a bottle while waiting. I don’t know if it was allowed, but we did it anyway! The pregame rituals carried on as I stood there wiggling my fingers and kicking the perfect dirt. Then a man with a headset directed me over to a microphone at home plate. It was my chance. I shouted with my little voice into the echoing microphone, “Play Ball!” and the crowd cheered.