So I was at Zach’s baseball game.  The poor kid is grossly oversported.  I dunno why I cram so much sports down the child’s throat, but I do.  Karate, soccer, baseball, basketball, hockey…everything except for the only sport that matters around here – football.  I hate hype, and football is 99% hype.  Besides, he’s skinny.  Anyways, as I was sayin…I was at Zach’s game.  Being the final game of the “regular” season, several mom’s felt the need to celebrate via a giant vat of Margaritas.  Having been a stay-at-home dad not long ago, I can easily slip into girl-talk mode, blabbing it up with the other moms.  I was on my second beverage (Lordy those drinks were strong!), talking a load of jibber-jabber, not paying ANY attention to the game, when I heard a bunch of shouting: HEADS UP, LOOK OUT, ITS A FOUL BALL!  Those atomic Margaritas must have jacked my reaction time, because by the time I processed the information, the incoming missile had blasted me in the leg.  Oh the laughs we had.

*Paul Harvey voice*  And now, the rrrrest of the story:

Several innings later I learned that the towering foul ball had been hit by my own son.  Nice.