Buy Me Some Peanuts And Crackerjack

I've wasted over an hour putting off today's post. I think it may be the self imposed pressure of starting a new hundred that has me a bit skittish. It's amazing how many things I can find to do when I'm deep in procrastination mode. I answered the phone and then ended up talking to my mom for half an hour, I dusted off the screen on my monitor, and then I wasted all our time with this first paragraph.

Last night I went to the baseball game with "Daughter" and my friend, who for purposes of anonymity, we'll call "Load." "Load " has these seats for a few games and was nice enough to offer me a ticket. (The phone just rang again and I couldn't help myself. What is my problem today?) Back to the story. "Load" offered me the ticket and wasn't able to find any clients or friends who wanted the other ones, so he asked if "Daughter" wanted to go. That's pretty cool for a single guy. I don't think I would want to give up guys night at the Sox game to hang with my pal's nine year old daughter, but "Load" may be a nicer guy than me. Either that or he's really desperate for company.

Going to a major league game is a great experience, especially when your team is winning. Right now the White Sox rule and seem unbeatable, so that makes things a lot more fun. I have to differ with the whole "America's Pastime" moniker though. It's only a pastime for those Americans with a ton of cash. Have you been to a game lately? It's like Calcutta. Everyone has their hand out for cash, the only difference being the beggars are wearing red vests and demanding large sums. I know the players salaries are high, but seven bucks for a beer? How can a regular Joe six pack enjoy his six pack? We'll all have to do our binge drinking in the parking lot. That way we can already be hung over by the end of the game for the drive home. I bought "Daughter" a hotdog, some peanuts, and a coke, and then told her that she had just devoured her first year of college. She also got some "Dippin' Dots". There goes law school. These prices make airports seem like the dollar store.

I have always found walking into a ballpark magical. When you come out of the tunnel and see the field for the first time, it takes your breath away. I still get that feeling, only now it's jealousy. I'm fixated on the grass. "How do they do that? There are no brown spots or dandelions. " I spend the whole game coveting my favorite team's lawn. That might break the eleventh commandment, I don't know.

Last night something happened that made me realize I may not be the craziest person in the world. Sometime late in the game, we heard a loud roar from the upper deck. We figured some drunk was getting thrown over the rail, but the roar went on for a while, and usually a drunk only screams for a second before the thud. The upper deck hooligans had started doing the wave. After a few minutes the craze had taken hold and was sweeping the park. I don't do the wave. It's not some high minded code or anything, I just hate standing up that many times. At about the second wave, an angry voice behind me started shouting "We don't do that here! Down in front. Watch the game." I turned around to see some curmudgeon who looked like the crypt keeper, going nuts. He had on an ill fitting Sox hat that looked like it may have been given to him by Abner Doubleday. It was perched on his craggy head that was getting redder with rage at each passing wave. I almost got involved just to give this coot a coronary. I thought I over react to unimportant things. This guy was soiling himself because people were having fun. To my horror "Load" agreed with him. There are some things I'd rather not know about my friends.

We had a great time and I'm looking forward to my next visit to the yard, as the players call
it. That's what convicts call their recreation area too. With the prices being so high I may have to hold up a liquor store to subsidize our next visit. Then with my luck, I'll see both yards. Later...Brian