No one believed me. No one. But my confidence could not be shaken.
I told the kids today was the day I would catch a foul ball.
“You always say that, Dad.”
Well, I do always say that. But this time I meant it.
It was a quintessential spring day in Utah. Ice cold in the morning — we just about froze to death during Curd’s 8:00 am soccer game — and gorgeous in the afternoon.
A perfect day for a Utes baseball game with Grandma and Grandpa.
At first pitch, there were only about 200 people in the 14,000-seat stadium.
Which meant Curtis, Tate, and I could each sit in our own section, separated by hundreds of seats.
Which meant Curtis, Tate, and I could each sit in our own section, separated by hundreds of seats.
To increase your chances of snagging a foul ball, it’s best to spread out.
(To decrease the likelihood of your kids driving you nuts, it’s also a good idea to separate.)
In the second inning, I made good on my promise.
O ye children of little faith.
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