Wooden bats.

Turned into the Mount Calvary Cemetery heading home from my Sunday bike ride, stopped in the shade to cool off before heading up the hill, home. From across the street in Santa Barbara Park, I could hear the sound of a ballgame, chatter in a language that I understood even if it was not my own.

When I got back on the bike, I rolled over to check out the game.

They had serious uniforms, were playing with a smiling rhythm that was friendly, the chatter was friendly. As I sat for a minute, the only person in the stands, a guy walking around behind home plate to get some bottles of water from the opposing dugout asked me if I wanted to play.

The bats were made of wood.