Remembering our older son's first game as a freshman at Stanford.
Sunny day, nice crowd. Me sitting with my shades on and my Stanford t-shirt and cap. Enjoyed watching the new team introduced to the crowd...standing on the 1B line. Yup...'Thats my boy! #19!' 
Life was good. Dream school. Friends all around. Yup, life was good.
1st inning...sittin' there smiling and laughing with family and friends. Thinkin' how great this is...starting pitcher walks the 1st batter. Then the 2nd. Then the 3rd. Bases loaded, no outs.
I peek over at the dugout and the head coach (we call him "9") calls my son over.
Uh oh! 
Shakes his head, sprints to the bullpen. 
Visit to the mound by pitching coach. You know, the sllllooooowwwww walk give-that-guy-in-the-pen-time visit. 19 (my boy) gettin' fired up in the bullpen...by end of visit, he's going full tilt.
My hair is now in fire!
We are talkin' ZERO-to-EIGHTY in 0.1 seconds. Heart pumpin out the chest.
He!! yeah I wanted him to pitch at THIS school on THIS day. BUT NOT NOW! NO-No-no-no-no! NOT NOW! Not this quick. And not in THIS situation.
Now I am rootin' my a$$ off for that starting pitcher. Come on baby! Lets get two!
Next batter rolls over into a double play. And the next guy is retired as well.
Son returns to dugout. I calm down. We go on to win the game.
He had his debut the next day pitching a 1-2-3 9th with 2 or 3 run lead...much more "ok" for me. But I never anticipated being scared nearly to death (myself) with that first almost outing. 