Where my 11 year old niece was chosen to play on our town's World Series team. The all-boys World Series Team. Against other teams made up of all boys who've been chosen to play on their town's World Series teams.
Where she kicked butt and took names tonight.
All. Night. Long.
Not that there wasn't camaraderie between her and the other players. They smacked gloves and each other's backs the entire evening as they made their way to a 24-15 victory, breaking a record, allowing them to proceed to the semi-finals.
I'm not sure what my proudest moment was.
When she was pitching and people were yelling from the stands, "Throw your heat, H!"
Or when she'd get up to bat, and I could hear the opposing team's coach yell out to his team in the field, "Big hitter! Get back! Big hitter!"
Or when a kid twice her size tried to steal home and she went at him with everything she had, sliding head first, her right arm outstretched, holding that ball as tight as she could.
The umpire jerked his arm up behind his ear and yelled, "You're owwwwwt!"
And Blue Kid jumped up, smacked his hands together turned around to his grandparents and yelled, "She's a tank!"