Recently, I was assigned to photograph the Kannapolis Intimidators vs. Delmarva Shorebirds baseball game at CMC-NorthEast Stadium. It is a great place to watch a baseball game and to photograph a game. From a photographer’s perspective, it is large and spacious with plenty of seats and good light at night. I can shoot photos from just about anywhere except on the playing field.

On the night I am writing about, I chose to sit in the second row of seats down the first base side beyond the visiting dugout. Usually, I don’t have anyone sitting in front of me. For this game a group of 5-, 6- or 7-year-old boys decided to sit in the row in front of where I was working. There were seven of them, all dressed in T-shirts and baseball caps. First, I thought that this arrangement would never work and I would need to seek another perch for my work. I started eavesdropping on the little boys and it was just too good of a discussion to not stay and listen. Someone once said, “As a photographer, I’m a listener.”  I’m not at all sure this is what they meant about listening.

The chatter between the boys and their male and female  leaders went something like this:

“Boy, this is a good place to get foul balls.”

“Yeah, I bet we get a ton of balls here.”

With the boys up moving around and their backs to the field, the male adult leader said, “Boys, you will have to sit down and pay attention if you want to get any baseballs.  Keep your eyes on the field so that a ball won’t hit you in the head.”

The boys sat down and started cheering for the Delmarva team in gray uniforms.

The adult male: “Boys, the hometown is wearing black jerseys. That is who we are cheering for.”

The boys:

“I like the gray team.”

“I’m cheering for the gray team. They signed their name on my cap.”

“Me too. I like number 8.”

By now there was a runner on first base. The pitcher threw to first to hold the runner close.

“Why did he throw over here?”

“He is trying to get the stealer (runner) out.”

“Stealer! We can’t steal when we play.”

“You can steal when you get in the fourth grade”.

I glance down in front of me and three bright faces have turned in their seats, looking up at me, all smiling.

“What are you taking pictures of?”

I responded, “The baseball game.”

“Why?”

“The pictures are for the newspaper.”

“I bet that camera costs a lot. Did it cost $1,000?”

I responded, “It cost more that a $1,000.”

“$1,000 is a lot of money. That’s like all the money in the world.”

Male adult leader: “$1,000 is not all that much. Well, it is a lot, but then not much when you think of the entire world.  If you go on a vacation you will spend $1,000 in a week.”

“I still think a $1,000 is a lot of money.”

Back to the game.

“What does the batter have on his leg?”

“That is padding.”

“What is padding?”

“You know, it is like what football players wear.”

“They don’t wear padding on top of their feet.”

Adult male: “It is there in case the ball hits their ankle.”

“Somebody farted.” Everyone laughs.

“That’s not a fart. Someone pooped.” They all laugh.

The adult female: “Boys, stop talking about that. It is not nice, and it is not funny. Turn around and watch the game.”

As she spoke, a hard-hit foul ball pounded the fence in front of them, going about 95 mph and bouncing out into right field.

The boys got quiet.

The adult male: “See there. That was a foul ball that you could have caught if you had been paying attention.”

One of the boys stood up and balanced his belly on the railing, leaning way over the fence with his little legs straight back, dangling in the air over his seat. With his cap in his hand, he made a scooping motion at the ground. Another boy joined him, hanging over the fence in the same position.

The first boy said, “This is the way to catch the balls that come over here with our caps.”

The adult female, in a loud scolding voice: “Boys, sit back in your seats. You are going to get killed.”

Another boy: “This is not a good place for us to get balls. We don’t have any yet.”

We were in the second inning.

“When are we going to get hot dogs?”

The  adult female: “Come on, boys, let’s go get hot dogs before you get hit by a ball and get killed.”

The adult male: “Honey, I told them to pay attention to the game.”

They all departed to the hot dog stand, and I never saw them again. They must have found a better place to catch foul balls. Well, at least a place where they wouldn’t get killed.The two adult leaders should be awarded a medal for service beyond the call of duty for taking seven little boys to the game.