Take Me Out To The Ball Game.

I bet that home-run was a sight to see.

It sure sounded like it was. I heard a loud pop, followed by emphatic claps, hearty cheers, and excited chants. I bet the ball was knocked right over the fence and landed between two momma’s, who would sooner leave in handcuffs than leave without that prized ball for their kid.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what it looked like.

I’m having to guess, of course, because I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it because I was too busy ordering my concession stand quesadilla that I missed the home-run completely.

I’m not what you would call a big fan of baseball.

In all honesty, calling me a spectator of the sport would imply that I wasn’t on my phone most of the night. Soooo, can’t call me that, either.

It’s not that I dislike sports, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. For instance, I’m counting down the days until College Football returns like it’s my full-time job (T-minus 60 days). And as far as basketball is concerned, I don’t have to be a genius to know when to yell ‘air ball!’

But America’s pastime? I got nothing.

I guess it just never appealed to me. I don’t have a brother, so I was never at the ballpark growing up, stadium hotdogs do not sound very appetizing, and the only thing I know about the movie, The Sandlot, is that some guy named Smalls is a murderer.

I’m sure if I understood it more, I would learn to like it. And with the game basically running all year-long, I would have more than enough opportunities to test my newfound knowledge of the sport.

But let’s be real. I have no intentions of doing any of that.

So the next time you see me at the ballpark, rest assured I’m there because of good friends, cheap tickets and a delicious quesadilla.