Out at the Old Ball Game

This week, we celebrated our anniversary by going to a baseball game with the young 'uns. A AAA baseball game actually. (Ahh, romance.) How else would you spend the afternoon when it's 90 degrees outside and there's not a shade tree in sight?

It was a great game and we were pretty well positioned. Not necessarily to catch all the nuances of the game but we were seated by some of the more colorful characters in the bleachers (metal, btw). If you know me well, you know I'm a shameless eavesdropper. As I told a class I was visiting this morning, "If you see me at the mall, lower your voice."

Right beside me was a guy that appeared to be a junior coach of some kind because he always had a comment about the style/form/skill of the various players. Some of them were really informative and some of them sounded like a guy version of cattiness.

"I don't let kids wear those pads unless it's a warm up."

"What a great throw to first! How'd he do that!?"

And right beside him was a young woman (well, not YOUNG young, just younger than me young) that had to agree with everything he said:

"Yeah, I haven't worn knee savers since I was, like, twelve."

"Yeah, what's with the crazy stance?"

But a few rows down from them was my personal favorite - a larger blond lady that knew every player's name but wasn't in the parent box. Every comment was screamed at a volume that may actually have been responsible for the infrequent breeze that blew past once in awhile:

"Remember the Cow - Cow - Count!"

"Make it HOT, Eric!"

"Whoo-hoo! That's the way! JUST FINISH THEM OFF NOW!"

"Put some PEPPER on it, baby!"

It was a great game.


(<-Notice the requisite ice-cream-cone profiled manager in the white pants...)








Oh, yeah, the home team won the game and, with it, the championship. I did notice that part, too.