They are facetiously celebrated as the state bird on T-shirts, their pictures are reprinted on coffee mugs and they even have ice cream named after them. We here in Maine joke about black flies, probably because there’s so little we can do about them.

I found that out first-hand Monday at a baseball game in Monmouth. You’d think after a number of years in this business, I’d wise up, but noooo. I showed up with my fold-out chair, scorebook, tape recorder, extra sweater — even on a 65-degree day, a sweater is often necessary by 7 p.m. — but no bug spray.

I didn’t even need to sit down to see what was in store as fans along the sidelines were already waving at these insidious little creatures as I walked in. I apologize to PETA or it PETI (people for the ethical treatment of insects), but I killed a couple of hundred of these things as I tried to keep score and watch the game. It didn’t even make a dent. They swarmed, they bit and they bit again.

Mercifully, this game ended after five innings because of the 10-run mercy rule. Another lesson learned, yet again. When it comes to spring in Maine, be prepared.