Quiet Night Games Are Better.

I had an apostrophe, epiphany, or what ever last night, and I was forced into it. Well, maybe not forced exactly, but it was the outcome of a chain of events that ended with me sitting alone at Louisville Bats baseball game.
Now, I'm not a loner by any means- just look at my cell phone bill and you will realize that I crave a good conversation, and when I find one, I'll let you know. Perhaps you will be part of it. Most likely not a participant, but if we are in anyway acquainted, rest assured, you have been and will be a subject of one, especially if you have done something stupid, and if we are in anyway acquainted, you can be rest assured that you have. We are, you see, a very odd lot. Very.
Well, the Ottawa Lynx are in town for a few days to show our Louisville Bats how to play baseball, and I had a pair of tickets for last night's game. My cousin and I have season tickets this year, and with 72 home games this season we obviously aren't going to every game, and aren't attending them all together.
My cousin and I stayed through 8 innings on Monday night, attempting to drink a car payment, so I was looking forward to going cheap last night with my brother who owes me a sandwich and a few beers. Little did I know that not only was I not going to get my adult beverages gratis, I wasn't even going to receive the free ride into the ball field's parking lot.
This my seem a bit trifle as the privilege to leave my car parked in a space marginally close to the field only costs four dollars, but you have to remember that parking lots become giant pedestrian through ways. And people exiting expensive cars invariably make quite poor pedestrians, as they are not used to walking anywhere except to and from their cars, and generally in the east end, so they are not aware of the rules of getting near my car that I have imposed upon them. Were they to stroll through downtown around, let's say for argument's sake, the corner of Second and Broadway, they would understand immediately that Andy and pedestrians don't mix. As if that isn't bad enough, there is always a group of children strewn across the lane of traffic looking at their shoes as they walk with their guardians in the lead, not paying a lick of attention. As expensive as children are, one would think that parent would be a little more worried about losing the tax exemption, but who am I to prevent them from becoming a headline.

I made it to my seat without having to deal with any form of law enforcement outside of a voice on the loudspeaker warning me or anyone else not to go onto the field for any reason during the game. It seemed silly, as even though the view of the game would be much better at ground level, there are no chairs out there. This announcement became even sillier as the game progressed, as it was evident that someone had to go out there and replace Louisville's pitcher.
As I sat in my seat last night not engaged in conversation I recognized some of the nuances of baseball that I had heard about, but had never observed. The way the pitcher comes in to cover home when the catcher is involved in a squeeze play, or how the out fielders move depending on who's batting is something I hadn't paid attention to before as my focus was on words exiting my mouth, and not completely on the game I had spent money to see. I was also introduced to some of the other realities of attending a ballgame, like the fact that the guy going around selling beer will pass by your seat mid beer, and then disappear for the length of time it takes you to finish your beer and wait for him for some minutes, only to reappear the moment you sit down with a beer you walked to purchase from another vendor. I avoided this disparity from reoccurring when I overheard a gentleman a couple of rows over tell the beer man to "come back at the end of the inning," and noticed that Doug (we're on a first name basis now. I call him Doug, and he calls me "another Bud Light?") did as directed. Neat.
Another aspect of not jaw-jacking through the game is that you can listen in to people around you doing exactly that. The one difficulty associated with this activity is denying myself the gratifying act of breaking into a conversation and asking the guy, and it's always a guy, if he always spouts absolute bullshit, or if he reserves speaking out of his ass for the ballpark. I listened in for about fifteen minutes to his ramble, and was privy to only one funny line that was purely unintentional, not from the guy, and only funny if you dislike Ohioans as much as I do. It went something like this-
"Where are you from?" asked one of the ladies.
"Dayton Ohio," replied the guy through a mouthful of hot dog.
"Oh, I bet you're glad to be out of there," she said in a comforting tone, as if to say, "I've been there. It's shitty."
This is where I lost it inside. "Ohioans making fun of themselves- don't that beat all. If they learn to drive, I'll be out of a job!"
I stopped listening to them at that point knowing that it couldn't get any better than that.

In the seventh inning i decided to leave when I found myself considering the absurd notion of hopping onto the field in order to show the third pitcher of the night a thing or two.