Coaches say it’s the easiest job. How hard can it be to turn zero to one? To learn baseball hieroglyphics, I filled notebooks with Ks and BBs and F7s and Xs and arrows telling the story of each game. I counted pitches, traced diamonds, marked squares, but I did not need the scorebook to know that the boy at bat who played for snow cones hadn’t had a hit all season. On this last Out of the last inning of the last game, I X-ed the first two boxes, began to mark the third when I heard the thunk of bat on ball. The umpire forgot her place and pumped a fist to the sky, the dugout kids popped off the bench and the parents flew from the stands like popcorn flying from a hot air popper, the noise of their cheers rustled the leaves of the trees, butterflies beat their wings, parked cars honked horns, the passing train bellowed, neighbors threw open their windows, kids cartwheeled on lawns, chickens ran, squirrels leapt, hawks cried, and above it all, the sun spread its peach into a wide smile.