WH and I headed to the local minor-league ball park last night to catch the local minor-league ball team in action against their provincial rivals.
And it was awesome.
I love the intimacy and the gentleness of minor-league ball. I love the passion you see in players who are working hard at a game for reasons other than money. The Prairie City team is a good mix of journeymen players long past their MLB days and young guys hoping to make it there. The crowd at the game was a good mix of families and rowdies. Lots and lots of seniors keeping score in their programs, talking about the games and the players they've seen in their lifetimes.
And of course, the classic smells of baseball... rosin, dust, peanuts and beer.
We were sitting next to a nice middle-aged couple who come to every game, and know all the other regulars in section H. Every few minutes we'd hear, "Hey Brenda! Kid's doing alright tonight, eh?" or "Hey Jack! Guess every night can't be a 5-5 night, eh?"
The local team won, but I'm not sure that it really mattered in the end. People left the park enjoying the fact that they had the opportunity to sit in the sun on a beautiful evening, talk baseball with their neighbours, enjoy a hot dog and some beer, and be at peace.