There's No Crying in Baseball

As we move into July, the Iowa weather could not be more perfect. Summer nights are filled with lightning bugs, hot dogs, and, of course, baseball. Last night I got a taste of all three.

I sat in my trusty lawn chair, shades on, ready for a game. The visiting team stepped up to bat, and then it began... the chanting. “We want a hit (hit), hit (hit), hit, hit, hit....” and so on, and so forth. Now, I’m all about cheering. And to be honest, the chanting is fine... for a while. However, it kept on going like the energizer bunny.

That’s when the banging began. Aren’t we all so glad that the dugouts are sheltered with steel? When I was a youngster, we didn’t need protection. If it rained, we dealt with it (I probably cried). If it was cold, we put on an extra layer (I probably complained). And if it was hot, we sweat (and, again, complained). Dang, we were tough cookies back in the day.

So tough that we chanted: “We are the Angels, the mighty, mighty Angels. Wherever we go, people want to know, who we are. So we tell them, we are the Angels, the mighty, mighty Angels.”

"A League of Their Own" = Priceless

So, in case you were wondering, there’s no crying in baseball. But there is chanting in softball.