Kids like Victor are the future. They play ball as ten year olds and grow up to become season ticket holders.

But only if they love the game.

Blainey was a threat to my livelihood, and I owed Dave my thanks for showing me this. I returned to owner mentality as I again watched the man with the big round belly as he eavesdropped on the parents. What can I learn from this? How can I use this to help my team?

I was impressed by Dave's skill at making himself visible, but of course that's what he does for a living. He started talking to two guys behind the backstop, who didn't realize he'd been an incorporeal presence just seconds earlier.

Dave beckoned toward me so I got out of the cart. If I'd learned anything from Deirdre it was this: You don't disobey a spirit's command.

It's an unsettling experience. I walked down the third base line knowing that I was invisible to the spectators and the boys on the field.

At some point, I would become visible to them.

I wouldn't even know when it occurred.

My appearance seemed totally natural to the two Little League dads. They didn't suspect a thing. They were talking All Star team: who made it and who didn't and who should have.

I listened for names like Griffin Junior and Albert Blaze and Nifty Downstreet.

The first man agreed that too many deserving boys are left off, but it has to be that way.

The second man-- he wore glasses and had a beard-- said they needed to expand the team.

Dave asked me what I thought.

I shook my head, begged off. "I don't know enough about it." They were debating their Little League All Star game and not the real one.

They explained it to me. The first place team plays the all stars at the end of the season, and two kids from each team get picked as all stars. The two kids are always the manager's son and the best player on the team.

Dave asked me if a kid should make the all stars just because his father is the manager. He wanted me to say that it was stupid and unfair to do it that way, but I was too smart for him.

"Of course he should," I said. I was a graduate of Listening Class, and I was showing off what I'd learned. "It's hard to find managers. Very hard."

The first dad thought it a good answer. "You put in all those hours as a manager, you've got a right to put your kid on the all star team."

"It goes with the job," said the one with glasses. "But it still isn't right that the Murnich kid isn't on the team."

"He isn't that good a player."

"He sold more candy than any other kid. Two years in a row!"

"That's no reason to put him on the all star team."

"For the amount of candy he sold?"

"He won the mini-TV set. That's enough."

"Come on-- he sold more than the next two kids combined! You have to honor a performance like that! You have to!"

"But not by making him an all star."

"He's done more for baseball in Dempseys Grove than any other person you can name."

"Dempseys Grove?" I asked. "Are we in Dempseys Grove?"

The dads gaped at me. How could I not know?

"Why didn't you tell me, Dave? You knew, didn't you? Did you know, Dave?" I looked around for Mike. Was he in the stands?

I grabbed the bearded guy's sleeve. "We really are in Dempseys Grove?" I asked.

He backed away from me without answering.

"Is this your idea of a joke, Dave? Or are you just ignorant?" He looked as surprised as the two dads.

"Don't you know who lives here? Don't you know why we're here?"

"I didn't know it mattered," said my bumbling Spirit.

"Mattered! My son lives here, you dummy!" I was repeating the mistake I'd made with Dee. "And I'm visible too! He might see me!"

Losing my temper. Going ballistic.