The directions said to follow the brook to the footbridge. It wasn’t as much a bridge as it was a steel grate laid across the two damp banks. I hadn’t even stepped off the dusty forest path onto this “bridge” when I heard it. Above the whispering leaves, the hush of the breeze and the shrill calls of birds, I heard the best sound in the world – the crack of a baseball bat.
Prague’s Eagles’ baseball fields are a fifteen minute bus ride out of the city center and a quick walk down a hill, with a street so overgrown with untrimmed trees and shrubs that it could be a deserted path in a ghost town. Truthfully, it probably just hasn’t been taken care of since spring fell upon us a few weeks ago.
Canon strung around my neck, I approached the five baseball and softball fields and every inch of me – from my sun-deprived skin to my camera-itchy fingers – was ready for a baseball game.