And that's why they call it hard ball.

So we played T-ball in the rain tonight, this being the next to last game and no one wanting to try to squeeze in a make up game tomorrow.

Things were just fine -- the usual screw ups -- until the bottom of the second inning. Chas was "pitching," which means he stands generally in the area of the pitcher's mound (or in this case, gaping hole in the turf that seems just perfect for tripping an inattentive 5-year-old) while the opposing team hits the ball off a T.

All's well -- pitcher gets lots of action etc. Then a kid rips a line drive off the T and straight into Chas' face. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for the first time all season I was standing just behing the back stop so I had a perfect view. And the sound. Oh, the sickening sound. He fell to the ground but didn't cry for a couple of frightening seconds. I immediately ran to him -- probably faster than I've run in at least 20 years. And, just as people say happens in a time of stress, I developed complete tunnel vision. Everything around him was a blur as I ran and scooped him up. I cradled him a little too protectively as the coaches from both teams strained to get a look. I glanced up and saw that they were shaken and worried and I didn't want Chas to see that as I tried to calm him -- because the crying had triggered an asthma attack already.

Finally I pulled back to look myself, frightened of what I would see and fully expecting a trip to the hospital. He sobbed a question: "Is there blood?" In fact, there was not. The ball had miraculously hit right between his eyes. Lower and his nose would have been busted. To either side and we'd probably be looking at an eye injury if not a broken socket. But it hit at probably the hardest part of his little head.

As I carried him off the field -- he was done for the evening -- I realized the day will come in the not-too-distant future when he will be mortified to have his mother run onto the field -- especially when there's a live ball in play. But for now, kindergarten or no, he's still my baby.

Oh, and the next inning? The coach had Eddie scheduled to play pitcher. He looked at me and said he could switch positions but I told him it was O.K. It's all part of baseball. But I was mighty glad when the game ended without Eddie catching one with his face.