Something I’ve never seen before: an infield triple.

I confess I tire of baseball sometimes. The other day I nearly missed the first pitch because I was wrapped up in a French lesson. To be fair, it’s challenging to waste time on Facebook when it’s all in l’Francais, so perhaps I’ve managed well.

I really ought to keep working on my thesis, a collection of true stories about working in Alaska for five summers.

I’m not really trying to watch every episode of Seinfeld this summer, am I? I could use that time to read Richard Wright for comprehensive exams, you know.

It’s hard to spend time with people as a grad student. I ought to work on that. Part of me is glad to be home, and part of me wants to climb mountains out west.

But I went to the ballpark, anyway, because it’s hard to take photographs of ballplayers on a screen.

The Springfield Cardinals’ Randy Arozarena, a young Cuban prospect, hits a popup to the Midland RockHounds pitcher. An infielder jogs toward to the mound, shouting that he has it. Another infielder thinks the same, and the ball drops between them all.

Quick – get the runner at second!

There’s no one covering!

Get the runner at third!

There’s no one to catch the ball.

Instead there is a runner hugging third base, safe for certain.

The scorer rules it a hit and an error instead of a triple, but I know what I saw.

I recalled one Fourth of July ballgame nearly 20 years ago. We played at Lumpe Field at our grandparents’ farm, named for our cousin. After eating buckets of fried chicken, and before watching a zealous firework display, cousins and friends played a ballgame. We used an Incrediball, and my uncle was the all-time pitcher. That day I hit a ball that snuck over the first baseman’s head, and the wild throws never, ever caught me.

I crossed the plate safely – the first home run I ever hit.

by