Daddy gloated all night of how he weaseled the tickets away from Sedgewick for a mere twenty bucks. Mommy had placated him too subtly and eventually had to interrupt, "Maybe Dad would like to teach Pauly about the rules. Right, Dad?"
Nodding, Daddy deepened his voice to indicate profundity. "Son, are you ready for your first baseball game? Did you learn how to play at school? A little baseball?"
"No, Daddy."
"No? See, what in the hell are they teaching him, Sandra? Sure as hell isn't math or hygiene. Not even baseball. Kindergarbage." Mommy glowered and gritted, quickly steering Daddy back to topic. "Well, Pauly, there are two teams. Whoever gets the most points wins. Now one team throws the ball and the other team hits the ball with a bat. Well, it's more complex than that. But our boys are going to win, no doubt. I have forty bucks riding on it with Turner."
"Daddy, who are our boys?"
"We're the boys in red. We're at bat. Just pay attention."
"Oh."
War chants and merchandise named the boys in red as the Wassleberg Privateers. Pauly watched the screen rather than the stadium. The colors were brighter. The people were bigger.
He watched a batter tousle the waterboy's hair on the television, then looked to home plate to see if it had actually happened. It did. Pauly's hair remained parted quite nicely.
Pauly studied the pirate mascot embroidered on the players' uniforms. "Daddy? If they are pirates, why don't they get swords? Why don't they chop up the bad guys?"
Daddy stopped watching the game and sighed, "See what I mean, Sandra? For chrissake."
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