Jack had an 8AM game today. The forecast was rain, and looking at sleek streets, I started calling the Little League hotline at 7, to make sure they were still playing. 7:15: yes. 7:45: yes. Jack and I headed down to the car—parking downtown is easy on Sunday and I was sure I'd find a spot that's good for tomorrow (alternate side) after his game was over. It was hard not to notice the hundreds (HUNDREDS) of bike riders cycling up 6th Avenue for the multi-burrough 50 mile bike ride, but I had gone to sleep at 2 and my brain wasn't processing everything yet.
As we headed down 5th Ave, 9th Street was closed. I started to panic, realizing there was NO way in hell we'd be able to get across 6th Avenue. And there was no way to get back to our parking spot. We had to circumvent Washington Square Park, trying Houston next to make it to the West Side Highway. No go. The police officer killed all hope, there was no way to get to the west side. We looped around, ditched the car at 8th and University, grabbed our gear, and started hiking west, through the drizzle.
On 8th Street we saw a man wearing a Greenwich Village Little League coach shirt. While the games were still happening, he was giving up and heading home. He couldn't get to Pier 40. As we were talking options, a cab slowed down —the dad of Jack's friend stuck his head out. They were trying to get to the game too. Jack and I piled in the cab and made it as far as the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, west of 6th. Then, ignoring the blaring whistle of a police officer, the four of us darted across the avenue, avoiding hordes of oncoming bikers. It was remarkably like a game of Frogger.
We picked up another cab a few blocks north and made it to the game. Somehow, we were only 15 minutes late. As Jack ran across the field, the inning switched and he was next up at bat. He was on first base by the time I got there. He had 2 more base hits—his best game ever.
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