Marsville in Bloomington, MN

By halftime, Cynde could barely contain herself. It wasn't just that her boyfriend was a gorgeous athlete with stamina, control, power, and speed; Cynde had actually begun to enjoy the game. She'd become aware of a series of hand signals being used by both teams. Morrisville players would touch their hats, then sometimes an elbow, sometimes their chest then hips. Pennsbury players seemed to be touching their noses and ears more. There was something about the combination of physical prowess and this subtle form of communication that Cynde found extraordinarily appealing.
This is truly men being men; asserting themselves, coordinating, competing, getting a little rough at times, but still managing to be courteous. So much strength and focus and finesse...and all just to play a game in the park.
Justin turned out of the dugout and began walking toward them. The front of his uniform was dirty. The front of his hair was damp with perspiration. He was looking at Cynde, smiling at her.
This beautiful creature...
He's
smiling at me.