I am a baseball mom. My oldest son started playing baseball a few months shy of his fourth birthday. So yeah… I’ve been a baseball mom for almost as long as I’ve been a mom. The thing about being a baseball mom is it’s not a tenured position. When your last kid playing is done, your career is over too. Saying good-bye, even to a sport as cruel as baseball, is not so easy. Trust me, I know. My baseball mom days are numbered.
Today I find myself in the twilight of my youngest son’s college baseball career. It is the day before the last pool play game of the ACC conference tournament. Although a loss earlier in the week means the team cannot advance, I’m still hopeful it won’t be the end. If I dare to let it, my imagination runs wild with possibility. If they pull off a win tomorrow… if all the right teams lose… if the sun, moon and stars are in perfect alignment… maybe, just maybe that’ll be enough to squeeze a few more weeks out of the season. A road trip to a regional leads to a road trip to a super regional, which leads to the road to Omaha. It’s possible. You know what they say. It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. Stranger things have happened. After all, it’s baseball.
I know it’s unlikely, but I can’t help myself. Even if it’s just for one more day, I am still a baseball mom. Until the party’s over…until the fat lady sings… until the 27th out… I am unapologetically, unabashedly, unflaggingly hopeful… at least for a little while longer… I am a baseball mom.
I’ll let you know how the story ends.
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