Games On.

I show up for my nephew’s Little League games because it’s important that he knows I’ll swear at other kids, too.

Opening day has arrived, and I’m glad it’s here. My brother is coaching my nephew’s team again, and I’m there Friday nights and Sunday mornings, always armed with gum.

It’s tradition for the cousins to share a moment between innings.

Obstructing my view is LA Clipper forward Brandon Bass, whose son is one of my nephew’s teammates. Every dad fawns all over Brandon during games. Less fanatic: the ump on the left, full of chutzpah, about to tell Brandon to get off the field and close the gate.