Baseball is life. One minute you're up; the next you're down.

I know this. You know this. Boy, does Christopher Ratte know it.

And we all know that taking your kids to a ballgame is the quintessential American rite of passage . . . to be celebrated, cherished, protected.

Just be careful buying the kids lemonade at the game. Your loved ones' very well being may depend on it. Give 'em a soda loaded with caffeine and high-fructose corn syrup instead.

It's safer than lemonade, but only because some lemonade is hard — spiked with 5 percent alcohol. There are commercials for this stuff on TV.

I know this. (At least, now I do.) You know this. But Chris Ratte didn't know.

Ratte doesn't watch television. And yet he dared to take his son Leo, seven, to the Detroit Tigers April 5 game against the Chicago White Sox. As a Tiger fan, I can tell you nothing went right. The Tigers lost 5-3.

But here's the other thing that was problematic. On the way to Section 114, down the right field line, just as the seats jut out closer to the field in Detroit's beautiful new ballpark, Chris stopped to get refreshments. I don't know what he got himself. No one's been forcibly confined over that decision. But he bought his son some lemonade.

Mike's Hard Lemonade, to be exact.

Being a father myself, and at times an idiot, I can empathize. But even more so having been to Comerica Park with my then 6-year-old daughter, who loves lemonade. (We beat the Sox on our visit.) My then 14-year-old daughter and my brother went with us; the conversation at the concession stand went something like this:

"Lil, they have lemonade, do you want that?"

"Yes!"

"Paul, that's hard lemonade," says my brother. "It's got alcohol in it."

"How 'bout a Sprite, Lillie?"

Chris Ratte may want to start going to games with my brother. Continued...