It's a rush.
This past Saturday, my boy attended Little League with a potentially sidelining injury. A few days before, he had fallen on his wrist as the teams were switching in between innings, and despite ice and Motrin, he was still in alot of pain.
Despite the pain, he decided to get his uniform on and go to the game, thinking he could at least sit with the team. His coach worked him out carefully, giving him just a few practice swings in the batting cages. The Boy made the executive decision that he could play, and so he did.
I am proud to say that the Scrappers pulled off a stunning victory of 15-12. You have never seen a bleacherful of parents more proud or excited than this bunch was.
To our surprise and delight, The Boy was rewarded for his team spirit and contributions (1 double, 2 singles) by being awarded the game ball! Oh, happy day!
The whole hoopla ended at Dairy Queen. Cones all around, courtesy of the coach (notice that his mohawk recovered in the car on the ride over to the DQ.)