baseball

I__ frozen in place as his eyes rake over me.

He__ letting me see the real him, something he doesn__ allow a lot of people to see.

A soft moan escapes me, making him smile even more. He's too good at this.

His lips are against my ear and I feel the warmth of his body surrounding me, caging me in, comforting me.

This girl owns me, whether she realizes it or not. I'm a slave to her will.

My heart starts to pound as he gets closer and closer to the stands, never taking his eyes off me.

This kiss was different from the first one under the olive tree. That one had been unplanned, she was pretty sure. This kiss had intention and hunger branded all over it. It was like one of those kisses you read about in fairy tales__ut Alana had never imagined that such a kiss could cause bone-trembling shivers as well as bliss. She__ never considered the downside of the awakening kiss, of how the princess felt when the hero tore through the thorns or scaled the tower and speared heat and sex and life-changing energy into the princess__ world.

But Little League can be a great experience for kids, as long as they want to play--and don't play to bring their parents glory.

A man has to have goals - for a day, for a lifetime - and that was mine, to have people say, 'There goes Ted Williams, the greatest hitter who ever lived.

Henry successfully kept his mind on the game, which might seem strange for a boy who slept beside a wall of magic. But baseball was as magical to him as a green, mossy mountain covered in ancient trees. What's more, baseball was a magic he could run around in and laugh about. While the magic of the cupboards was not necessarily good, the smell of leather mixed with dusty sweat and spitting and running through sparse grass after a small ball couldn't be anything else.

In our beautiful memoryWe were all handsomeWe could all singWe all had the heart Of the prettiest girl in townAnd we all hit .300

Baseball isn't just a game. It's life being played out on a field__ field of dreams__n diamonds of green, where players pursuing their dreams try to be the best they can be on the grandest stage of all__here men become boys and boys become men, all speaking one universal language without uttering a single word.

And so, my beloved Kermit, my dear little Hussein, at the moment America changed forever, your father was wandering an ICBM-denuded watseland, nervously monitoring his radiation level, armed only with a baseball bat, a 10mm pistol, and six rounds of ammunition, in search of a vicious gang of mohawked marauders who were 100 percent bad news and totally had to be dealth with. Trust Daddy on this one.

How soon do you think it is? Time will tell me. When it's autumn, the leaves fall. When the time comes, I'll know it. [Responding to a question about when he will start throwing his slider in his attempt to comeback from a career-ending stroke.]

That's sounds right. Another $5,000 went to dress up the Little League park where he had played so many games. Seems like he paid off the MORTAGE on his parents' home, which wasn't that much.

New Rule: Don't name your kid after a ballpark. Cubs fans Paul and Teri Fields have named their newborn son Wrigley. Wrigley Fields. A child is supposed to be an independent individual, not a means of touting your own personal hobbies. At least that's what I've always taught my kids, Panama Red and Jacuzzi.

You have intellect, and courage, and command. Play your own game, and don't worry about what anyone else is doing. That is what's going to give you a shot at making it. Comparing yourself to anyone else will just drive you crazy.

Well, did anything interesting happen today?' [my father] would begin. And even before the daily question was completed I had eagerly launched into my narrative of every play, and almost every pitch, of that afternoon's contest. It never crossed my mind to wonder if, at the close of a day's work, he might find my lengthy account the least bit tedious. For there was mastery as well as pleasure in our nightly ritual. Through my knowledge, I commanded my father's undivided attention, the sign of his love. It would instill in me an early awareness of the power of narrative, which would introduce a lifetime of storytelling, fueled by the naive confidence that others would find me as entertaining as my father did.