Soak Up the Fun, Part !

My sister and brother-in-law will soon be moving to Fargo, ND.  My sister, being a baseball fan, wanted to catch a College World Series game before she lost the easy opportunity, and I saw no reason to not go with her since her husband doesn't do large crowds.  Little did we know...

We went to the UNC-UCLA game, and apparently UNC has a tradition of sending up dozens of beach balls into the air at some point during one of their games.  (This one happened to be their last in the series, seeing as they lost.)  I told my sister to choose our seats, since she cared more about watching the game than I did.  (We got general admission tickets, so no matter what, we'd be in the outfield.)  She went to the middle of left field. 

Before the game even started (we were there a couple of hours before first pitch to get seats), an inflatable whale was confiscated in the section to our right.  Throughout the game, beach balls, mostly of the regular variety, were caught and torn by the 20-something "crowd manager."  He didn't seem to be trying too hard, and probably would have been right there with the ballers if he hadn't been working.  I wanted to sing "I fought the law, and the law won" every time he caught one, but didn't think anyone else would sing along with me, so I refrained.

I really wanted to sing it as a guy got escorted out of the game by the young guy's older, sternly replacement.  Apparently, the man with authority didn't take too kindly to having a beach ball slapped towards him, right in front of his face.  Not sure why I got a kick out of the older fan who kept a fork in his pocket with the express purpose of popping beach balls, but I did.  Possibly because I can't wait until I'm old enough to get away with things like that.

I don't remember what inning it was, but I noticed a guy looking back up towards where the "crowd manager" was standing as his girlfriend blew a beach ball up.  A few minutes later, I saw a couple of scantily-clad coeds* go half-way up the section aisle, turn and look at their friends questioningly, as though looking for approval.  Seeming to get it, they continued towards the top, out of my sight. 

About a minute later, dozens of beach balls of various sizes and designs were thrown into the air from the rows in front of us.  We laughed gleefully and I pulled out my phone for pictures.  The girl behind us tested out instagram's new video feature, and who knows how many childlike cries of delight she captured. 

You would cry too, if it happened to you.

Except, there's no crying in baseball.

Top: selfie of me and my sister
Bottom: Great Balls of Beachiness

Being the tired, old ladies we are, we left shortly after the 7th inning stretch.  The game was slow, anyway.

*the feminist in me despises the term "coeds," but the author in me likes the way it sounds here