Big League Weekend.
XXX
Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle were sitting together at Cashman Field. Their seats were in the fifth row, right behind the third base dug-outs. The late afternoon was warm as the sun slowly sank behind the left field bleachers. Freshly cut grass, popcorn and hotdogs scented the air. The sound of vendors hawking beer and peanuts somehow making the sound of hard thrown balls smacking into leather gloves complete.
It was Las Vegas' annual Big League Weekend and the Seattle Mariners and Chicago Cubs were having their final spring warm-ups before heading north for Opening Day. There was a hum of excitement in the sold out crowd as the high intensity began to lights augment the waning daylight.
Grissom was as excited as a boy, he loved baseball and the Cubs had been his team ever since he had spent a summer in Chicago nearly thirty years before. Something about their being a perennial underdog appealed to him.
"Sara, these are great seats. I still can't believe you got them." Grissom grinned at her before tossing a few pieces of kettle corn into his mouth.
"Yeah, well, it was fate. It should've been a swing shift case. But because of that gang shoot-out at the mall, I was called in to handle it." Sara reached over to grab a handful of the sweet-salty treat. "I had no idea the homeowner also owned the Area Fifty-Ones until he asked if I'd take some game tickets as a token of his thanks."
They both rose for the National Anthem, singing along with the rest of the crowd and getting slightly teary-eyed with the overwhelming feeling of patriotism.
When they sat, Sara leaned over and said softly, with a tinge of embarrassment, "You know, Grissom, I've never been a baseball fan; I don't know much about it. Can you tell me why you like it so much?"
He slipped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her against his side, smiling broadly. "Well, it really is a beautiful game. And it's not just the statistics. It truly is a game of inches. The baseball diamond is the perfect size. The distance between the bases makes it necessary for the fielders to play nearly perfect defense to avoid allowing a hit or committing an error; and yet, if the batter hits the ball directly at a fielder there's almost no way for him to reach base safely."
Sara contentedly watched his face as he explained, his passion for the game almost contagious. His eyes were a brilliant blue and his face was animated, the years falling away leaving a younger, more carefree man.
"Ichiro is one of the best defensive outfielders in baseball. Not only that he's had at least two hundred hits every year for the last seven seasons, only the eighth time that's been done. He's the lead off hitter for the Mariners, they bat first because this is an away game for them." Grissom turned to see Sara grinning at him. "What?"
"Nothing. I'm just happy." Sara shrugged, "I'm glad we're here. I love that you can share this with me." She glanced at an especially loud vendor walking down there aisle.
"Although, if you eat one of those hot dogs you're going to have to brush your teeth before you ever share a kiss with me again."
Grissom smirked before continuing with the virtues of the game he loved. "Did you know a curveball really does curve? Because of the Magnus effect a really good curveball can have as much as seventeen inches of movement" Grissom grinned at Sara before adding, "And a fastball can top one hundred miles an hour. On top of that, depending on the grip used the ball can rise, sink, or even move laterally. At that speed it takes less that four tenths of a second for the pitch to reach the plate."
Sara leaned over to squeeze his hand and kiss his cheek just as the umpire called out, "Batter Up!"
XXX