It’s springtime which means it’s also time for my boyfriend to nervously pace back and forth as his kid plays first base for his little league team.

I think the boyfriend’s kid really likes his team this year, much more than he did last year, which is actually the most important part. And he gets to play for the Red Sox and as luck would have it (and by requesting a size medium t-shirt) he was awarded the coveted #9.

We finally had a chance to attend a game last Friday night and the evening was not without drama. First, the opposing pitcher got hit in the face with a ball. Fortunately for him, it was a ball thrown from his catcher and not a line drive off a bat but it was a scary moment nonetheless. The kid was a tough little guy, too, because he refused to leave the mound.

Then there were a few in-the-park home runs. Defensive ability isn’t exactly a strong point in little league play.

Finally, with the Red Sox down 16-15 in the bottom of the sixth, boyfriend’s kid hit the game-tying RBI with two on base. A questionable phantom tag later and the game ended with a 16-16 tie, or as we say a 16-16 victory for the little Sox. We know who the “real” winner was.

For his efforts, boyfriend’s kid was awarded a Happy Meal from McDonald’s. Well, technically we were going to get him a Happy Meal until he freaked out about us treating him like a child, gave us a 15-minute rant about how he’s not a baby and is too big for a “gay” Happy Meal and how he wanted a Big ‘N Tasty meal instead. With a chocolate shake, of course.

As we drove to Wakefield for fireworks the other night, my boyfriend, his son, and I started discussing the history of the Fourth, such as the Declaration of Independence, John Adams, and Thomas Jefferson. Out of the blue, the kid asks who we want to win the upcoming presidential election.

“John McCain, I guess,” I said.

He replied, “Good! Because I don’t want Obama to win!” Bear in mind, he’s only nine-years-old.

Intrigued, we asked him why.

“Obama wants to make kids stay in school two more hours a day!”

I have no idea where the kid heard that. His mother is far from, we’ll say, political. But that, my friends, is a nine-year-old perspective on the upcoming election. Don’t think they aren’t paying attention, in between episodes of Spongebob and Fairly Oddparents, of course.

THANK GOODNESS last night was the boyfriend’s kid’s final little league game. It was round two of the Woburn Little Leauge playoffs, single elimination, and the kid’s team was facing league rival, the Angels, a team that walloped them the last time they played.

Sure, boyfriend and I got there a little late (top of the fifth) and kid’s team was down one run, but do you know what a pain in the ass it is to get to Woburn on a Thursday evening? The only realistic way to get there is 128, and 128 at 6 p.m. on a Thursday is suicide-inducing. (Actually, any road in the Greater Boston area at 6 p.m. is suicide-inducing.)

Anyway, like I said the score was really close when we got there. I had an uncomfortable conversation with the boyfriend’s ex (kid’s mom) about her desire to be put on medication after boyfriend left me alone with her. (I think I have a trusting face or something because people always feel the need to tell me way more than they should).

I couldn’t believe how nervous my boyfriend (and all the parents, for that matter) was. He was pacing like a psychopath and chain-smoking. “I can’t take this,” he kept saying.

Honey, it’s just a friggin’ little league game.

Unfortunately, the kid’s team lost. It was heartbreaking. They went into the bottom of the sixth (the little league equivalent of the ninth) with a one-run lead. Trying as hard as he could, the pitcher struck out two kids but the little girl on first base missed a ground ball that I think should have been foul. The tying run scored. On the next batter, an almost identical hit went over to first and again, she missed it. Winning run scores, game over.

As the Angels celebrated, the poor kids began crying. I mean, we can’t forget that they are only 8 or 9 years old. According to the kid, the little girl kept saying, “it’s all my fault,” as she sobbed in the dugout. Surprisingly, boyfriend’s kid handled the loss well. It’s even more surprising when you realize that THREE of kid’s friends play for the Angels and, in typical little boy style, razzed him like crazy after the game. “You lose, we win”… and so on. But the kid didn’t cry. What a good sport!

My boyfriend, on the other hand, did not handle it well. In fact, he bitched about the umpires, the little girl, the other team, the other parents, EVERYTHING! As we drove home (with the kid in the backseat, mind you), he kept repeating the events of the final inning. He kept whining about how his son might NEVER AGAIN get the opportunity to play in a championship game! Oh the agony! My boyfriend, I love him dearly, but sometimes he can be the biggest baby ever.

As sad as I was that the kids lost, I am THRILLED knowing that I no longer have to race to Woburn for games. I don’t have to sit through six long innings on perfect Saturday afternoons when I could be doing something else (shopping).

I can’t tell you diddely-squat about Jerod Mayo, the linebacker selected by the Patriots at #10 yesterday, but I do know that if Belly likes him enough to draft him, then he must be A-OK. I’m a little surprised by the Round 3 selection of some QB kid, but again, I don’t know anything about him, even his name escapes me at the moment. At least today marks the first time I can actively look at Patriots-related stuff since you-know-what.

Also today, my boyfriend’s kid has his first little league game of the season.

Not really in the mood to drive to all the way to Woburn to sit in drizzle and have a bunch of old soccer moms (in this case, baseball) give me dirty looks for two hours but whatever. Boyfriend needs a ride up there and since I love him to bits, I’m happy to oblige.