And It's One, Two, Three Strikes You're Out...

Last night I gathered up my nephew, niece and ladyfriend and headed out to the local AAA ballpark, the Dell Diamond. Now, the Diamond isn't your typical minor league park, not by a long chock.

First of all, it is located smack dab in the middle of Austin's "Silicon Hills," where computer manufacturing giants such as Dell, Motorola and Samsung churn out computers, microprocessors and the like. The "Dell" in the name of the park should be the first clue, right?

Secondly, the park is co-owned by Nolan Ryan, so there is a higher level of expectations required of a park that is co-owned by one of the modern day baseball legends. No skimping on the grandeur here.

So, it's not exactly the ballpark experience that I was accustomed to. I remember going to a few games with my dad when I was a kid. The ballpark usually brings back memories of the smell of hot dogs and the sounds of good natured urgings of acquiring new spectacles directed at any umpire who makes a call in favor of the visiting team.

Since I have recently discovered that my fellow Austinite brother and his family are in the process of packing for a move to Maine, it suddenly hit me in the face that my local niece and nephew were soon going to be on the opposite side of the country. My time with them had suddenly turned into a premium.

It feels odd writing that last sentence now. Perhaps it is because of the uncertainty of life that time spent with loved ones and friends is always at a premium and should be cherished, not taken for granted.

Still, when one slogs through the nortoriously evil I-35 traffic during rush hour, puts up with the sibling rivalry in the back seat, fights for decent parking and lays out $$$ on tickets to a baseball game, it isn't a far stretch for one to actually expect to watch the game, is it?

The thing I quickly discovered, although I should have realized, is that young children aren't really all that particularly interested in baseball. Well, my nephew is. My niece is at the age where discovering fun shapes in clouds provide hours of quality entertainment.

Any chance of watching the game pretty much went out the window the instant they discovered the playground behind the outfield wall. Yep, you heard me right.

Playground.

With tons of slides, swings, swimming pool, climbing wall, bouncy castle things, a speed pitch game and other activities to make a under 12 year old squee with great joy. So, with heavy heart at the prospect of pissing good money away for an activity that could have been free if we had chosen to visit one of the bountiful selection of Austin city parks and playgrounds, I sat and watched as they had a blast.

As the innings passed and the night progressed, I found myself slowly caring less about my lighter wallet. Going to the game was important to me because I had good memories of going with my dad, which I had hoped to share anew with my neph and niece before they moved to Outer Mongolia. What was important to them was that Uncle Rob took them somewhere fun and filled them up with junk food and sugar whilst they ran amok throughout the night.

How easy it was to lose sight of that. It wasn't so much what we were doing but the fact that we were here together goofing off that mattered to them.

Once the 7th inning stretch came and went, I cared less about the cheers, the smell of roasted peanuts and the occassional pop of fireworks that announced another scoring run on behalf of the home team. By the eigth, my nephew came up to me and asked if he and I could watch the game for a bit.

"Are you sure, dude?" I asked, "They still have the playground open for a few more minutes."

He scratched his right arm absently as he shook his head and replied in his petulant little way that he gets whenever he's teasing an adult, "Well, duh, we are at a baseball game, aren't we?"

"Sure, kid, let's grab some dirt," I reply as the ladyfriend takes my niece back to the playground.

We grab a seat on the grassy berm that surrounds the outfield fence. Not the most comfortable of seating, but good enough for two guys who don't mind getting themselves dirty by sitting on the lawn.

We watch as the local team strikes out the visitors and retires the side. The home team is up by one and as long as they don't choke during the top of the 9th, victory is assured.

I am aware of my neph slowly burrowing into my shoulder as we stared straight ahead at the opposing pitcher who was winding up for another fastball.

"You tired, dude?" I ask as a ball hit by the local team's catcher suddenly veers of into foul country. Guy just couldn't seem to catch a break that evening.

"Naw," my nephew replied, "just glad we came. Thanks for bringing us."

It was a rare moment because it wasn't very often that moments like these happen. It was unlikely that this kind of moment would happen again in the near future. While I love my other nephews as well, I sadly don't really get along with their father (one of my other brothers) so my time spent with them is even less frequent.

"Anytime, dude," was all I could say.

-To be continued...