I’m sorry. I know how much players have to focus, and I know not to be a distraction. I just got caught up in the moment, in the great game, in your terrific pitching.”But I felt a need to explain more.“Look, Jason, I love baseball. I love the crack of the bat hitting the ball. I love the seventh-inning stretch and singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ I love eating hot dogs and standing for the singing of the national anthem. I love doing the wave. I love Kiss Cam. I love that the game isn’t over until it’s over.“I love the thrill of a home run and the disappointment of an out at first. I love the way a batter stands at the plate and the catcher readies himself to receive the pitch. I love watching the pitcher windup. I love sitting in the stands and feeling like I’m part of the game.“And tonight, watching you pitch, I forgot that I’m only a small part—the spectator. Watching you, I felt like I was in the game, out on that field with you. You’re out there on the mound, living a dream that so few people ever experience.“I’m sorry, sorry that tonight I ruined the moment for you.”He was staring at me intently. I’d just bared my soul. Why didn’t he speak? What could he possibly be thinking?My nerves stretched taut.“Say something,” I demanded.“There’s nothing else to say,” he said in that quiet way he had.Then he lowered his head and kissed me.