>>Even though my kids are 24 and 27 I took up watching little league baseball games whenever I come across one, not only are they just as fun and interesting as any major league game, there's no drunk sitting next to you that you have to put up with, parking is a breeze, and you can't beat the ticket prices unless you have something against free.<<
Oh, I must certainly find this Promised Land -- unless of course, you missed little Johnny's dad stomping the crap out of little Johnny's coach for not having let him play the whole game (little Johnny's dad having been much too busy making enough money to pay off the credit card bill for the half-dozen $150 space-age, tungsten bats little Johnny absolutely has to have to make it big in the Little League) to have taught little Johnny the fundamentals of the game. Certainly, there are no drunks sitting next to you to have to put up with; but did you notice little Johnny's comatose mom next to you, bone-exhausted from ferrying little Johnny and soccer-playing little Susie back and forth and back and forth and back and forth to their practices (not to mention games, and other multitudinous events) and all the petrol and petrol fumes she consumed in the process. Perhaps you weren't aware that this was the "home" team, and that there is also an "away" team, whereby little Johnny and little Susie's coaches can continue their incessant battle to prove who has the best coaching skills -- who can shape and mold their little charges into the very best little specialists they can be.
But then perhaps I'm just cynic in the wrong neck of the woods . . .
So tell me, oh Llama, where is this Shangri-la?
Ps. It sounds to me like y'all have been comparing notes with this fellow, here.