Count Us Lucky

Last week Ken's youngest sister invited us to attend her office's annual family outing at Shea, held each year while the team's away. It was the first year I was able to go and, because Shea's coming down, it was a last chance for me, and more importantly for Kenny, the real baseball fan, to say an unusually intimate farewell to the old place.

Kids of all ages get to have an at-bat in the park and run the bases, and the office athletes slug it out in an pickup game. We played catch with the little ones and explained things like why they were going to call the new stadium Citifield.

Cold drinks and hot dogs are to hand as you walk in, past the dugout (where later, we will photograph Ken's sis calling the bullpen.)

A few people climbed into the deserted stands and settled down there, and the rest sat on benches or spread out a blanket as we did, 'cause we picnic in style.

We got to perambulate around the warning track, lie on our backs in the sweet, dense, intensely green grass, and play baseball with our nephews on a warm, sunny afternoon in the outfield of a major-league ballpark.

How lucky can you get?