We are sitting at Turner Field in Atlanta, watching the Braves take on the Washington Nationals. A batter steps up to the plate, a lanky left-hander, tightly circling his bat. Two nights earlier he hit two home runs out of four times at the plate. Atlanta’s best pitcher eyes him over the rim of his glove, then winds up and throws. The batter pops it up impossibly, third-deck high. We let out a whoop. And everyone around us turns and stares.    We are cheering for Adam LaRoche, son of one of my best friends and first baseman for Washington, surrounded by Brave fans who don’t take too kindly to…