With Mother's Day just around the corner, I thought you might be interested in printing the poem that I have enclosed. It is not just about our children, but also about the mothers who sit and watch the games throughout the season. A season which initially is cold and damp, and less than hospitable. It is ecumenical. In every town, every county, there are mothers who sit, cold and yet hopeful. We watch our children, a little older, a little taller than the year before. With each time they step up to the plate we agonize over the outcome. Will it be a single, a triple, or my god, a homerun? When they strike out, it's as if we have struck out as well. We want to run up to these kids, hug them, and make everything right. These are our children. Athletes or not, we love them, We wish them success.

You can bore me with the Mets

You can yawn me with the Jets

Just let me watch my boy play ball.

You can treat me to box seats

And buy me all the "eats"

I'd rather see my boy play ball.

You can take me to the park

In a limo after dark

Just let me watch my boy play ball.

There is nothing I like better

Than to shiver in my sweater

Cause I'd rather see my boy play ball.

Sincer hittin' off a tee

I just love to go and see

My boy, my MVP, play ball.

Linda Gambino