Their pregame infield looked like an Olympic tryout. As we watched, Whalen commented, "Their outfielders' arms are so strong, they don't need a relay man."
    One of the staples of Seton Hall's pregame routine was that each infielder would stretch out his arm and make a long throw to first base from the outfield grass.
    Again, Whalen chimed in, "Their shortstop and third baseman can throw us out from the warning track."
    Renshaw looked at me, "Scott, their backups throw better than our starters."
    Trongone then added, "They throw better than my college team, and we were national champions."
    We stood along the third base line, opposite Seton Hall, as the national anthem was played. The turnout, at least of couple of thousand people, was the largest crowd I had ever seen attend a West Essex baseball game. Beyond the right field wall of the stadium, something caught the attention of our players, particularly Bustamante.
     Jane had explained to me that if I wanted the rainbow, I had to put up with the rain. The rain had poured throughout the previous day and into the night. But now, as the sun set around 7:00 p.m., the most beautiful rainbow appeared in the distance.
     Perhaps this was another omen. Some would say it was a bridge between what was real and what was imagined, or maybe Bustamante's grandfather was making good on his promise.
     As Father Kilcarr of Seton Hall threw out the first pitch to the delight of the large crowd, the rainbow loomed over the stadium in all its majesty.
     The umpire yelled, "Play ball!"