The View from the Bleachers

I always forget how much I love being at the ball park on a summer night, rooting for the home team. Last night I got to see the Mets beat the Dodgers at Shea. My friends and I had hot dogs and beer, and, because it was popcorn night (!), free popcorn. The hot dogs tasted great in that inexplicable way ball park food does when you're really hungry after a long day at work and the long ride out to the stadium on the subway. I love seeing all that green on the field and the figures of the ball players so far away down there. They look tiny, but you can still read their bodies: the way they all go so still while waiting for the pitcher to wind up and deliver, the way the home plate umpire rests his hand on the catcher's shoulder in what always seems an oddly friendly gesture (why do they do that anyway? to better see the pitch? to steady themselves?), the cluster of players around the pitcher when it's time for him to go.

I'm too tired to write much more (it was a late night and I had to go to work today!) so I will let the pictures tell the story.