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It was a clear, warm day. Early spring sunshine had chased away the morning chill to bathe the local park in ideal baseball weather.
Sam Wilson flicked the large pink bubble in his face with disdain, which was only slightly stymied by the deflated gum sticking to the tip of Bucky Barnes’ nose and his tongue snaking out to draw the gum back into his mouth with a grin.
“You seem stressed, Wilson,” Bucky said when Sam put his eyes back forward. “Worried you’re gonna lose?”
Sam laughed and rolled his eyes. “Not a chance,” he said. “Gonna kick your ass into next week. Just thinking about how much I don’t want to drag the field. Don’t think I’ve had to do that since freshman year. No, wait, sophomore year.”
“Fuck up in a game?” Bucky guessed.
“Nah, screwing around during practice. God, we got in so much trouble that day.” He looked wistful and nostalgic for a moment longer before he handed Bucky a large rake. “Come on, Babe Ruth, let’s get started.”
Bucky scoffed under his breath but took the rake and began the arduous, boring task of evening the field and packing in holes with extra dirt. Sam watched his muscular body appreciatively for a second before he left for the field house to get the chalk cart.
All of it brought him back to long nights spent on the fields–the buzz of the lights, of the heat, of the adrenaline. Even now, in mid-March when chill and amp still clung to the air, he felt like it was a late June night, everything tinged orange from the dirt, everything a little sweaty and alive.
Tending to the field, boring and back-breaking as it was, went quickly. As with most work, he and Bucky moved in time with each other. When they happened to cross paths, one or the other had a race or a dance prepared to liven up the task.
Standing in the mouth of the home team dugout, shaking out his sore arms, Sam surveyed the field and felt more satisfaction than irritation with the work. A job well done. Bucky’s arms snaking around his waist, the warmth of the sun and exertion being replaced by Bucky’s body on his back, helped the good feelings along. His hands settled on Bucky’s forearms and he leaned back against the other man.
“Done almost an hour early too,” Bucky breathed against his neck. His meaning was clear as his nose dragged up the sweat-dampened skin of Sam’s jaw. And Sam could almost be persuaded right then. Except.
“Yeah, but people start showing up early too,” he pointed out.
“All I’m hearing is that we have at least half an hour out here.”
“No, what you’re hearing is that we should get ready.”
“Nothing to do until Sarah gets here with all the gear. Come on, doll I know you used to bring all the boys out here when you were the school’s ace.”
Sam gave in and let Bucky tug him into the seclusion of the dugout, press him against old wooden walls with decades of childish graffiti on them. “These are the little league fields,” he told Bucky. “So, not really, never out here.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and rucked Sam’s shirt up to drag work-roughened and metal hands over his skin. Sam’s head fell back. “Let’s pretend otherwise,” Bucky suggested.
Sam was fine with pretending. He pushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair and tugged him closer. He’d always wanted to do this–make out in the dugouts or under the bleachers–but he hadn’t. Mostly because he’d never been interested in anyone in the dugout with him. He was kind of all for it now, though. Now that it was Bucky whose tongue he’d associate with the smell of field dust, cut grass, wood, and sunshine.
“Fuck,” he breathed as Bucky’s teeth caught on his neck for a second, fingers curling in Bucky’s hair again and drawing out a muffled moan.
“Better watch that mouth, Wilson,” he breathed, making his way back to Sam’s mouth. “Baseball is a civilized pastime and we’re gonna have a bunch of kids around us. Can’t be usin’ that foul language, y’know.”
Sam rolled his eyes and tugged on Bucky’s hair again until Bucky dropped his head back and let Sam get his mouth on his neck. “You've got a worse mouth than me,” he pointed out, nipping at Bucky’s collarbone as he ground a thigh between his legs just to hear the poem of curses that tumbled from Bucky’s lips and prove his point.
Just as Bucky was earnestly trying to get Sam’s shirt off, a car honked from the parking lot. Bucky let Sam’s shirt fall back down and leaned against him, forehead against Sam’s shoulder.
“That’ll be Sarah,” Sam said, though neither of them needed the confirmation.
Bucky squirmed against Sam’s body in a silent tantrum for a second before he pushed himself away and stomped out of the dugout. He grabbed a ballcap as he went to hide his mussed hair. With an amused smile, Sam followed.
Sarah was coming down the gravel path that denoted a walkway with a box under one arm and several bags strung over the other. The boys were lagging behind, dragging their bat bags with them and losing a battle against the rocks.
When they finally clocked Sam and Bucky, they came running forward–AJ to Bucky to get hauled up in a bear hug and Cass to Sam, who caught him around the waist and swung him around in a wild, flailing arc. The bat bags were forgotten.
“You ready to kick Bucky’s ass?” Sam asked.
“Yeah!” Cass agreed at the same time Sarah scolded, “Language, Samuel Thomas!”
Sam sighed. “Ready to kick Bucky’s butt?” he amended.
“No fair! I wanna be on Uncle Sam’s team!” AJ cried, worming out of Bucky’s arms to run circles around Sam and Cass. Cass reached for his brother in an attempt to stop him and they ended up just chasing each other while they argued about who got to play on whose team.
“Tell you what!” Bucky called loudly. “You can both be on your uncle’s team. He’s gonna need all the help he can get.”
The boys laughed and cheered, teasing Sam as they ran back for their bags. Sam elbowed Bucky’s side as they came up to Sarah. They each kissed her on opposite cheeks and Bucky took the box from her while Sam took the bags.
“It took you long enough,” she complained with a smile. “Thought you were gonna make me keep doing all the work.”
“You’re just so good at–” Bucky smacked his hand over Sam’s mouth before he could start a sibling brawl.
Sarah still leveled a look at her brother but relented to say, “The t-shirts are in the box. I got twenty in smalls and mediums and five each in large and x-large for you two and any high schoolers who show up.”
“You’re the best, Sarah,” Bucky said saccharinely. He earned his own dubious, if gleeful, stare for his efforts.
“All of the paperwork–sign up sheets, press releases, medical liability–is in the bags. The little booklets Mrs. Olson made are in there too. We’ll have to pass them out later.”
“You were supposed to let my PR people handle all of this,” Sam chided lightly, moving to put the bags on a folding table set up under the score-keeper’s box.
“I did,” Sarah said. “I just wanted to have it on hand in case something happened.”
“Nothing’s going to happen with you in charge,’ Bucky assured.
“You don’t spend a lot of time with kids, do you?”
Bucky laughed and kissed her cheek again. “It’s going to be fine. That’s a Bucky Barnes promise.”
Both Sarah and Sam snorted at him.
_______________________________
It was almost an hour and a half later that all the kids were lined up on the field, swatting each other with their jersey shirts as they waited to be assigned to a team. The older kids were milling behind them, clearly unsure what to do while they were so outnumbered.
Sam and Bucky were standing a few paces away with Cass. AJ had joined a group of friends for a pre-game catch session. “Warm up!” he had shouted as they darted for the third base line.
“I think this is mostly everyone,” Sarah said. “We can sort out any stragglers as they come in.”
“Sure,” Sam agreed with a nod, scanning the crowd with something like apprehension. Bucky tucked his pinky against Sam’s for a second.
“Can I count everyone off?” Cass asked.
“Go for it, buddy,” Bucky said. He whistled twice and the group of kids quieted from a rumbling roar to a buzz of excitement. “Alright, listen up. Cass is going to give everyone a number. If your number is odd, you’ll be on Coach Sam’s team. If your number is even, you’ll be on my team. Any questions?”
Immediately, a hand flew up. Bucky gestured for the girl to go on. “Isn’t your metal arm an advantage?”
“Well, it’s really heavy, so no. I’m slow with it,” Bucky said easily.
“Yeah, but it’s super strong,” she insisted. “My mom saw you on the news and said you were like a weightlifter.”
“I promise Coach Bucky has never lifted a weight in his life,” Sam cut in. “Besides, he’s a coach. He’ll hardly be on the field. No worries.”
Another hand went up. “What’s up, dude?” Sam asked.
“What are our teams?”
“Good question. If you look at your shirts, you’ll see a picture of a wolf on one side and a falcon on the other. My team will be the Falcons, obviously. Coach Bucky’s team will be the White Wolves.”
One of the high schoolers let out a howl and sent the kids into a fit of giggles and reciprocal howls. Sam nudged Cass forward and Cass quickly counted out the group. Friends slowly peeled away from friends to go towards their respective coaches.
“Mr. Coach Sam?” a voice asked, ducking and dodging their way towards Sam. Bucky saw him a split second before Sam. He was a scrawny little thing, but tall–as tall as Cass even. Notably, Bucky noticed instantly, he had a prosthetic arm. “Can I be on Mr. Coach Bucky’s team?”
“Yes!” Bucky shouted, gesturing to his team. “We need a slugger like you. What’s your name, kiddo?”
The kid beamed, but shifted nervously. “It’s Owen.”
“Well now hang on,” one of the highschoolers said, pushing his own way forward. His friend tagged along. “Just a second. I’m Jarren, this is Simeon. We’re gonna be acting managers for the Falcons this game. And Owen here is an MVP.” Jarren dropped his arms over Owen’s shoulders, wrists crossed over the boy’s chest.
“We can’t just let him walk with a fair trade,” Simeon agreed with a grin, resting his elbow on Jarren’s shoulder. Owen covered his face with his hands as he shook his head.
“A fair trade?” Bucky asked incredulously. “I can’t trade anyone. I’ve already been betrayed by those two,” he said, gesturing to Cass and AJ by Sam. “I’m already down a player.”
“Alright, alright,” Jarren acquiesced. “A payout.”
“A payout?” Bucky said with contemplation. “How about…I buy everyone a snow-cone after the game?” he offered.
The cheers of the kids around them drowned out any counter-offer the high schoolers were going to offer. Jarren and Simeon laughed at each other, jostling each other as Jarren let Owen run over to Bucky’s side. Bucky offered his metal fist out and Owen touched his prosthetic to it gleefully.
“Welcome to the Wolves, kiddo,” he greeted. He clapped to get everyone’s attention and corralled everyone into the dugout. Bags were shoved under the bench and hung along the fence. Bats and gloves were exchanged. Bucky had to help attach a few face masks to helmets. The sport sure had come a long way since the days of digging a ball out of the harbor trash and using PVC pipes as bats.
The game was generally going to be a soft-pitch game run by the kids with Sam and Bucky jumping in every now and then for the publicity of it all. With the increased interest from some of the high school players, they’d amended the game to have a few at-bats that were a little higher intensity between the high schoolers and Sam and Bucky.
Bucky was first to bat and he grinned up at Sam on the pitcher’s mound as he knocked a bat against his shoes and traced a useless diagram over the plate. “Now, don’t go easy on me ‘cause you think I’m pretty,” he called up to Sam.
Sam smirked back at him, wound up, and pitched.
“What the–flippity flip was that, Wilson?” Bucky asked, staring at the ball nestled in Jarren’s glove behind him. He was extremely proud of himself for not delving into a lengthy string of cursing.
“What, can’t keep up, old man?” Jarren asked with a grin so wide Bucky could see it behind the catcher’s mask.
Next to Sam, Simeon nodded approvingly. “His picture doesn’t stay up in the field house just ‘cause he’s the Falcon, y’know.”
“Focus this time, Barnes,” Sam said as he stood for another pitch.
It also sailed back into Jarren’s glove. Bucky at least remembered to swing this time, though he was pretty sure he was a full second behind the pitch. “Sam, Je—ez Louise, what is your arm made of?” Bucky asked, which made Jarren laugh at the irony.
Cass, who had heard the fifty-five second string of curses that had fallen from Bucky’s mouth two weeks ago when he’d brought a hammer down on his hand instead of a nail, made a face at his censorship before trotting from first base towards Sam. He held his glove over his mouth like a little professional, but Bucky could still hear him say, “You can’t pitch that fast to the rest of us.”
Sam laughed and tucked his glove over Cass’s head for a second before Cass ducked out of the way and went back to first base. “Want me to go a little easier on you? Give the outfield something to work with?”
“So competitive,” Bucky taunted, swinging the bat lowly until he brought it back up to his shoulder. “I’m just happy to be here.”
Sam finally gave him one he could hit and he knocked it into the outfield. Two younger kids went scrambling for it and a highschooler manning the fence tossed the ball to them so they could throw it back to the in-field. Bucky let himself get tagged between first and second base.
“That’s okay!” Owen said from the on-deck circle when Bucky made his way back to the dugout. “I always get tagged.”
Bucky rapped on his helmet lightly. “I got a good feeling about today. You’re gonna be great.” They both looked away as the high schooler who had come up to bat behind Bucky smacked the ball into a high-arcing sail far over the back fence.
“Holy cow!” Bucky breathed. Several siblings of players went scrambling around the outside of the field to retrieve the ball.
“That’s Jason Victor,” Owen said. “My dad said LSU is already scouting him and he’s only a sophomore.”
As Jason rounded the bases, very excitable Wolves poured out of the dugout to jump around him and high five him as he crossed the home plate. At first base, Cass looked unimpressed.
“We’re not allowed to have homeruns in real games.”
“That’s not true now!” AJ answered. “Not now that you’re in the majors.”
“Hey, it’s all in good fun,” Sam soothed. “Settle down.”
As Owen came up to bat, Sam passed the ball off to Simeon. Bucky watched Owen’s shoulders sag just a little, but he scuffed his cleat on the dirt and patted the plate with his bat.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Bucky called quickly, waving his arms dramatically as he came up to Owen. “This is our MVP, right? I don’t think Coach Sam gets to chicken out up against him. Pitch the ball, Wilson.”
“Trust me, little man,” Jarren started, “I’ve seen Simeon try to soft toss. He’s really bad at it. I’ll be running all over this back pitch chasing down bad throws.”
“Then you won’t mind a momentary delay,” Bucky agreed. “Besides, Sam is not gonna be any good at it either.”
Owen snickered between them and Simeon amiably stepped back out of the way. Sam stared Bucky down for a few seconds before he turned his, much better natured, attention on Owen. He pretended to do a complicated wind up and then tossed the ball over the plate. Owen swung and then missed.
“Hey, that’s alright,” Bucky called, clapping. “Now you know what it looks like. Let’s get ‘em, Champ.”
And he was able to hit the next one, sending it towards the shortstop who couldn’t quite make the throw in time. Bucky motioned for Owen to stay on first. Sam and Simeon swapped out while Bucky gave Owen a triumphant air-fistbump with his metal hand and Owen mimicked it with his own prosthetic.
The rest of the inning went similarly, with a kid every now and then getting a piece of the ball and sending the fielders scrambling. Some of the older kids were able to send pop-flys into the grass but most of the game stayed in the in-field. Owen was tagged out at third base on a forced run but the kid behind him was able to score in the next few minutes. No one else made it in but the dugout was full of excitable chatter as the kids put bats and helmets up in exchange for gloves and warm-up balls.
“Is there a plan, Coach?” one of the high schoolers on Bucky’s team asked.
“Catch the ball?” Bucky suggested. “Hey, where’s my pitcher?” He put his hand down on a girl’s intricate pigtails when she came bounding over. She was about Cass’s age and just as tall.
“That’s me! I’m Kassidee, I’ve been my team’s pitcher for years.”
Bucky smiled and nodded. “Great. I’m gonna steal your job for a little bit and then you can take over when I really get us in a tight spot, huh?”
She beamed up at him. “That’s what I’m best at.”
“Oh, you’re a closer, huh?” he laughed. “That’s good. We can use that. I’m old, y’know”
“And I’m not!” she assured.
Bucky laughed again and tugged on one of her pony-tails. “Let’s give ‘em—“ His eyebrows went up under the brim of his hat. “Let’s give ‘em something to chew on.”
And if Kassidee looked at him like he’d started growing flowers out of his ears, he ignored it. They made their way out to the pitching mound and Kassidee stayed a step behind Bucky, though her shoulders were back and there was a capable, comfortable ease about her, even as Sam took strong, show-offy swings at homeplate.
“Ayyy, batter-batter,” Bucky taunted, leaning over dramatically with his hand behind his back as he sized up the strike-zone and also Sam’s ass in those pants.
“You are such a caricature,” Sam scoffed, straightening up for a real swing.
He knocked the first pitch Bucky sent sailing into the outfield. And when Bucky genuinely said ‘golly’ out loud, Sam stopped his joking, loping run around the bases to stare at him. Bucky shook his head helplessly and gestured to the plethora of young ears around them. He was pretty sure Sarah was laughing in the stands.
Jarren came up to bat when Sam decided to stay on first base and tease one of AJ’s friends who was playing there. The young man pointed out to the outfield with his bat but Bucky was able to get in two strikes before Jarren connected enough to foul off one ball. He got another piece of the next pitch but the third baseman caught it with a gleeful laugh.
Simeon bunted as soon as he liked the pitch and Kassidee threw herself forward to field the ball, even beating the catcher to it, and fired it down the line to the first baseman, but he bobbled the catch and Simeon managed to stay safe.
“Alright, kiddo. It’s all you,” Bucky said when everything settled down. He dropped the ball into her glove as she nodded seriously.
“You did good, kid,” she teased back, which had Bucky snorting out another laugh. Sam was on third base when Bucky got over to man the coaching spot. They jostled each other around until the third baseman told them to knock it off.
“Kids these days,” Sam said. “Get control of your team.”
“Hey, he’s right, you’re being distracting. Trynna sabotage our fielding, makin’ all this noise,” Bucky defended.
Sam was rocking back and forth like he was about to run for home. He didn't even look over at Bucky when he asked, “Yeah? Why don’t you come over here and make me—”
Bucky threw his glove at Sam to stop him from finishing that thought because Bucky didn’t want to finish that thought. Sam yelped and threw Bucky his glove back.
“Is this what Simmy and I are like? Jeez, no wonder everyone keeps putting us across the classroom from each other,” Jarren said, leaning back on the fence by Bucky’s dugout.
Before Bucky could tell him to go bother his own team, the batter hit the ball and sent all three of them ducking. But it had gone towards the first baseman and none of them were in danger. Then Sam seemed to realize he should be running and started to lope towards home. The first baseman easily made the throw to the catcher, who tagged Sam on the chest with a grin that was visible even under her facemask.
“Rotten luck, sir,” the kid, Maria, said, giddy with the excitement of talking to Sam Wilson.
“Well, hey, I got my runners all advanced, right?” Sam said easily with a shrug. “Baseball is a team sport. No one man wins games.”
“Tell that to Simeon,” Maria scoffed. “He threw a shutout last week and got a homerun. He literally could’ve won it all on his own.”
“Pitcher’s only as good as their fielders for shutouts,” Sam pointed out. “And their catcher.” He knocked a fist against the catcher’s shoulder and watched her grin and duck her head.
“Sure, alright. But I obviously wasn’t catching for Simeon. It was all Jay.”
Sam knocked on Maria’s helmet and picked up the discarded bat by them. “You know what I mean,” he sighed. “Keep up the good work.”
Another grin as Maria said, “Thank you, sir. Will do.”
The game carried on. Sam’s team got one run in before the third out was played. The Wolves answered with two runs but the Falcons gave them the same. Bucky had thought they would when Jarren got up to the plate and eyed the kids already on base before taking a real swing at a pitch. It didn’t quite go over the fence, but it let the other two players run home.
“Hey, that’s alright!” Bucky called out as Simeon settled at the plate. “We just need one more out. Come on, guys, eyes on the ball, okay?”
Simeon fouled a pitch off and it sailed right to Bucky’s face. “Mother-trucker!” he shouted and hit the ground without thinking and then spent several seconds spitting out dirt. “Samuel Thomas!'' he yelled when he’d gotten back to his feet. “I oughtta get over there and– Don’t act like you didn’t plan that, you little gremlin!”
And that was apparently the last of the silly words Bucky could let loose in the game because half the players bent over in laughter, Simeon included, and by the time Bucky realized they were actually laughing, the rest had joined in.
“Oh come on!” he objected, though he could feel the infectious laughter creeping into his chest too, pulling his mouth into a grin. Sam was smiling at him too, brilliant and bright in the sunshine. “Hey, come on!” he tried again. “We’ve got a game to finish. Let’s look sharp.”
But it was too late. That sent them into more fits and Bucky held his hands up helplessly. It was the contagious kind of laughter that would have no forced end. The kind that came and went in rolling peals and exchanged glances. “You’re all gonna take the gas outta me now, huh? I’m trynna be nice and you’re all just gonna flip your wigs? Act like I’m talkin’ gobbledygook?”
The kids howled with laughter and Sam had his hands over his face, shoulders shaking too. Bucky grinned but crossed his arms over his chest sullenly. “Just keep gassin’ you guyses up, huh? Dopin’ off during a game? What kinda example are you all takin’ away?”
Sam eventually tore himself away from his dugout to cross the field and get a hand over Bucky’s mouth, even as he hid his face against Bucky’s shoulder to keep drawing in gasping laughs while he tried to control himself. “I hate you so much,” he hiccuped.
Bucky pinched his side and grinned again, pulling Sam’s hand back just long enough to say. “Yeah, but they love me, huh?”
“They’re ten. They don’t know any better.” He turned his attention to the field but caught someone’s eye and started to laugh again. “No, no, seriously. Let’s finish this game. Finish the inning,” he tried to call out between snickers. Bucky looped his arm around Sam’s shoulders and gestured for Kassidee to continue pitching. Alas, even up against a ten year old, Simeon couldn’t get another hit, too busy laughing and telling Jarren to shut up. And maybe throwing in a fair bit of older-kid sportsmanship for the young pitcher.
Still the kids celebrated like there had been a winner (it was a tie) and everyone spilled out onto the field to jump and shout together. The older kids stood off to the side a little, snickering to themselves and repeating some of the replacement curses Bucky had used throughout the day.
“Bucky said we’d get snow-cones!” AJ said, breaking out of the huddle of kids to run over to the coaches.
“Coach Bucky did say that,” Sam agreed, which left the players shouting in agreement as well.
“Actually, I think whoever gets to the cart last has to buy,” Bucky said, which sent the kids scrambling for an exit close to where the little snow-cone cart was set up. Bucky grabbed Sam’s wrist to hold him back, darting ahead of him, but Sam tripped Bucky, the childish cheat, and got out of the dugout before Bucky could.
“Behave!” Sarah called disapprovingly and Bucky had the feeling she wasn’t talking to AJ and Cass. Still, Sam pushed Bucky back a step when Bucky caught up and Bucky decided that watching him run off in baseball pants wasn’t such a hardship.
The group of players were a flurry of noise as they all called their favorite flavors up to the poor man working the snow-cone cart. Simeon and Maria helped distribute them as they were made while Jarren tried to drop as many pieces of crushed ice into Simeon’s hair as possible without getting caught. Bucky helped organize the kids–those without snow-cones yet over here, those with over there–and made sure everyone was accounted for, including Simeon and Maria, before getting Sam his terrible bubblegum snow-cone and a blue raspberry one for himself.
Kids focused on food was the best sort of silence Bucky thought he’d ever hear. And then a green snow-cone hit the ground in something like slow motion. Bucky braced for a commotion or an outburst, but instead there was just a faint, emphatic, “Aw, shit,” from Owen.
The contagious laughter was back with a vengeance, louder than before as Owen’s mother scolded his language and Bucky ordered him a new cone and overpaid for the rest of them.
“I try so hard to be fair-mouthed and you’re just gonna drop the best curse of the day, huh?” he teased as he handed Owen the new cone.
Owen was blushing in embarrassment and mumbled an apology. “But maybe you can come back when we’re older and really say what you want out there,” he eventually suggested, which earned another reprimand from his mother and a snort of laughter from Bucky.
“Yeah, alright. And you can hear how bad Coach Sam is too, when he’s losing.”
“Uh, I don’t lose,” Sam called from somewhere ahead of them, where he was fending off his snow-cone from Cass, who had evidently inherited his terrible taste in syrup flavors.
The kids dispersed slowly, chattering and laughing, until there were just a few stragglers left, though at this point it was mostly parents talking to parents rather than kids dawdling. Bucky hooked a finger in Sam’s belt loops and tugged him over.
“Oh, what?” Sam asked with a pleased and amused smile. “You want some sugar for that sweet mouth of yours?”
“I was on my best behavior.”
“You surprised me with that line drive. Thought for sure you’d lose your cool.”
“I’ve got great control over my tongue,” Bucky assured, pushing his forehead against Sam’s.
“Ah, see, there it is,” Sam breathed, closing his eyes. “Not a civilized bone in your body.”
“Well, not until you–”
“Uncle Sam and Bucky, will you come play catch?!” AJ called from the field.
“I wanna see how far I can throw it!” Cass added.
Sam let out a long, bubblegum flavored breath before he pulled away. “Come on, All-American-Ball-Player with the All-American-Mouth.”
Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Let me tell you about my All-American-Mouth,” he teased and earned an elbow in his ribs for it.
Overhead, the sky was clear and the sun was bright and it was a perfect day for baseball.