It could have been any player, any field, anywhere in Southern California. The game is about to start, and the mother waves to her son as he walks from the bullpen to the dugout.
Jeff Weaver isn't too old for his mother to wave to him, right there in front of everyone.
Jeff pitched against his kid brother Jered on Saturday at Angel Stadium, in an extraordinary matchup: the older brother for the older L.A. team, the upstart little brother for the upstart L.A. team, within easy driving distance of the town in which they grew up.
But what made the evening so extraordinary was the celebration of the ordinary, in the presence of the parents. Gail and Dave Weaver personified the grace and selflessness evident in the thousands of parents who keep youth baseball leagues running smoothly across the Southland.
What parent does not want the best for his or her children?
"The main goal was for them to go to college and get an education, not to become major league baseball players," Dave said. "For me, the greatest thrill was seeing them to go to college."
Jered retires the Angels in order in the top of the first inning. In the bottom of the inning, Jeff throws away a pickoff attempt for an error, and the Angels soon score. The parents sit quietly, even as the Angels fans seated in front of them go crazy. But the Dodgers throw out a runner trying to steal, and Jeff strikes out the next hitter. "Yes!," Gail yells. "Go Jeff!"
The Weaver fans are everywhere, family and friends from far and wide, some four dozen Weaver dreamers.
Scott Boras, the agent who represents the brothers, donated his suite behind home plate. The Angels donated another suite. The parents sat where they always do, in Section 119.
"These are our home seats," Gail said. "We're a little superstitious, I guess."
There was no hint of favoritism in their clothing, no hint even that their sons were baseball players. Gail wore a black top and black jeans. Dave wore a brown Harley Davidson T-shirt and blue jeans.
"I always go incognito," he said.
But Gail wore her loyalties on her ring fingers, almost invisibly.
On the nail of the ring finger of her left hand, the one closest to the Angels dugout, she painted a tiny red dot. On the nail of the ring finger of her right hand, the one closest to the Dodgers dugout, she painted a tiny blue dot.
No one in the crowd could see that. But, when Angels vice president Tim Mead surprised Gail and Dave before the game with half-Dodger, half-Angel jerseys -- "DO-GELS" on the front of one, "AN-DGERS" on the front of the other, "WEAVER" on the back of both -- the parents happily put them on.
"We didn't want to draw attention to ourselves," Gail said. "But you can't not wear it, right?"
Jered retires the Dodgers in order again in the top of the second. In the bottom of the inning, Jeff gives up a home run, and the Angels lead, 2-0. Dave sits quietly, hands clasped. Gail sips from a water bottle. Then the Dodgers' defense rescues Jeff, and Dave and Gail jump up and applaud.
Gail sees a man waving frantically at her, from four sections away. She waves back, pointing him out to Dave.
"It's Chuck," Gail said. "Looks like he brought his grandkids."
Chuck coached Jeff and Jered as 8-year-olds, in the Santa Susana Boys Baseball League in Simi Valley. The Weavers grew up there.
The league is 46 years old. This year's sponsors included Steve's Automatic Gate Service, 805 Boot Camp and TuTu's Shave Ice and Ice Cream Shack.
Dave managed and coached in the league. Gail kept the score book and worked the snack bar.
When Jeff made his first All-Star team, at 9, the Weavers had no idea the players would practice every day, so Dave drove Jeff back and forth from the family camping trip, 90 minutes each way.
"After that, we knew we couldn't take any more summer vacation," Dave said.
And, since the boys were six years apart, the Weavers spent 12 years at Santa Susana.
"We raised two kids there," Gail said. "Everybody had their heart in the league."
Jered gives up two runs in the third, and the Dodgers tie the score. Dave sits quietly, arms crossed. Sue, an old friend who came in from Las Vegas, is sitting next to Gail and throws an arm around her shoulder.
Gail smiled at the thought, at the sheer fantasy: brother against brother, in the big leagues.
"I guess that's every little kid's dream," she said, "but what's the percentage of that happening?"
Saturday's game marked the 21st time brothers started against one another. According to the Elias Sports Bureau, major league history covers more than 190,000 games. That percentage: .0001.
"It's a little different perspective for us than what major league baseball and the historians think," Dave said. "They're still our sons. They're the most important things in our lives."
Said Gail: "It's very special, once you get past the nerves. It's an awesome feeling to see how close your boys are, to have this special bond through baseball. It's a great feeling to see them get to experience this together.