"Mom, Apple Pie and..."

Author: Samantha
Email: sammer77@aol.com
Notes: The song reference is "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

---

Take me out to the ball game
Take me out to the crowd

The warm summer sun shone high above them. Buffy squirmed impatiently. "Well, I’m here. Can we go now?"

"Buffy," Riley said amusedly, looking down at his girlfriend. "The game hasn’t even started. We can’t leave yet."

"I can’t believe I let you drag me here," she pouted, pushing her bottom lip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

Riley shook his head. "We had a deal, remember? If I went clothes shopping with you, you’d come to a baseball game with me. I held up my end of the bargain. Now it’s your turn."

Buffy gazed up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Well, it doesn’t seem like an even trade to me. I mean, shopping is so much more logical and civilized than baseball. Not to mention air conditioned." She started pulling on the front of her shirt to get some ventilation.

Leaning over closer to her, Riley copped a quick look down her shirt, raising his eyebrows and grinning when she noticed what he was doing. "Lighten up, Buff. It’ll be fun, I promise."

"If you say so," Buffy muttered, standing reluctantly as the national anthem was played over the loudspeaker.

---

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks
I don’t care if I ever get back

"Ooh, that was a good one!" she murmured excitedly, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look.

"Buffy, he struck out," Riley commented dryly.

A mischievous twinkle played in her eyes as she looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. "So? He flexed his biceps on that last swing. That was the good part." She giggled.

Riley rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You’re supposed to be watching the game, *not* the players’ muscles."

"Oh, like you read Playboy for the articles. This game is my Playboy. Only with clothes." Buffy laughed again, loudly this time, when she saw the look flash across Riley’s face.

"I don’t read Playboy," Riley said a bit defensively.

Buffy nodded. "I know you don’t. That’s my point." She gave him a wink and turned her attention back to the batter’s box.

"Come on! Hit a Grand Slam!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

Riley sunk lower in his seat and covered his eyes with his hands.

"What?" Buffy asked, a bit exasperated. "I wasn’t looking at his butt this time. Although…" she trailed off, looking back at the batter who was going through his routine at the plate. She looked for a few moments longer, then turned back to her still-hiding boyfriend.

"No, it’s not that," Riley offered, looking up at her. "Buffy. You can only get a Grand Slam if the bases are loaded. There’s no one on base."

Buffy wrinkled her brow, processing his words. Then she shrugged and smiled. "Oh. Well, whatever."

A few minutes passed in silence before Buffy said, "You know, if the pitcher pitched with his other arm, I could check out the goods better." She stifled a laugh.

Riley just sighed.

---

For it’s root, root, root for the home team
If they don’t win it’s a shame

"How come home base is flat and the other ones aren’t?"

"For one thing, it’s called home *plate*. And it’s flat so that the batters don’t trip over it while they’re hitting."

"Well, why is that guy called a shortstop? He looks pretty tall to me."

"He’s supposed to stop short balls heading to the outfield. Get it?"

"Oh."

Silence.

"How come that other guy got to score a run even though the batter guy got out?"

"It’s called a sacrifice fly. The guy can score if there’re less than two outs. As long as he tags the base first."

"It’s neat how there’s punting in both football and baseball."

"There is no *punting* in baseball, Buffy. Only *bunting*. Buh. *Bunting*."

"Gosh, you don’t have to get all snippy, Riley. Geez."

"I’m sorry."

More silence.

"What does ERA mean?"

"Earned Run Average."

"What’s the difference between an earned run and an unearned run?"

"That’s a long story."

"Oh. Well, what does BB mean?"

"Base on Balls."

"What’s that?"

"A walk."

"Then why don’t they just use a ‘W’? You know, for ‘Walk’?"

"Because the ‘W" is already used for ‘Wins’."

"Oh. Well, what does IP mean?"

"Innings Pitched."

"What about RBI?"

"Runs Batted In."

"What, as opposed to Runs *Not* Batted In? I mean, aren’t *all* runs batted in? This *is* baseball. Batting is a pivotal part of the game."

"Yes it is. And not all runs are batted in. Sometimes they are scored on an error. Or a balk. Or a walk."

"You mean a base on balls."

A pause. A look. A slight narrowing of the eyes.

"Yes. A base on balls. Although technically, a run scored on a walk counts as an RBI."

A sudden wish to take back the words.

"Why? The batter never *technically* batted the run in. Don’t you think it would make more sense to call it a Run *Walked* In instead?"

"I suppose it would. But it’s not."

Another pause.

"What’s a balk?"

A heavy sigh. A pinching of the bridge of a nose.

"It’s when the pitcher doesn’t come to a complete stop before throwing a pitch."

"What so bad about that?"

"It’s unfair to the base runners. Fakes them out. If the pitcher doesn’t come to a complete stop, then the runners get to go to the next base."

"So if a guy’s on third base, he gets to go home."

"Right."

"I get it."

Silence. The sound of the crowd. The next batter.

"Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I bothering you?"

The slightest hesitation.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

A shift closer. A grasping of hands.

"Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m having a good time."

A look. A locking of eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You were right. This is fun."

"I’m glad."

A pause.

"You know why it’s fun?"

"Why?"

"Because I’m with you."

A smile.

"Thanks."

Another moment of silence.

"Oh, and Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"One more thing."

"What’s that?"

Inhale. Exhale. The feel of warm breath on skin. A whisper.

"I love you."

A look of disbelief. Widened eyes. An opened mouth. A wide smile lighting up a face.

"I love you, too."

For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out
At the ol’ ball game