(Ignore the finger - I was freezing!)
It was not such a beautiful day for baseball except that it was a beautiful day for baseball. Opening day. Gorgeous. The game not so much although there were 26 runs scored. Today. Not so gorgeous. Cold, clammy, foggy. 1 run total. Beautiful.
Special moments? There were a few. When we arrived, our season ticket seat mates were there. Nice folks. Camped out in seats 5-7 were a group of scurvy youngsters with their mother in the seat one row up. We become immediately aware of one very important fact, they are from Boston and they are there rooting for their Red Sox. She is loud. She is obnoxious. So obnoxious that her husband doesn't even sit with her - when he is allowed to sit that is. His first run is for 3 hot dogs and 2 orders of nachos, one with no cheese. He returns with the hot dogs but not the nachos so the Mrs. informs him that the youngest of their brood will "have a meltdown" if he doesn't get his nachos. The Mr. complains that the line is long and he will have to wait but the death stare convinces him that missing another two innings is probably wiser. He smartly gets the candy at the same time but this means that the kids don't even eat the nachos. The Mr. sits with the Sox fans behind us (we are surrounded) and they spend the next inning discussing the virtues of being a born and bred Bostonian.
The Mrs. is the single most horrific baseball fan ever. She claps loud. She shouts loud and she shouts non-stop. Real pearls too, "nice pitch John!" (she's on first name basis with most of the team), "that's okay!" (every time things went wrong), and the classic "good eye!". At one point a couple of large young men arrive fresh from the trailer park, baseball hats askance, only to find the Mrs. occupying their seats. The Mrs. argued with them that she was sitting in the correct seat and that this was indeed Section 140. Now, I am not sure how they do it in Boston but in Cleveland, Section 138 is actually 138. I confirm that in my reality, she is sitting in Section 138. She says, "Oh, we're in 140". I say, "I think you should go there" but sadly, she doesn't take my advice. She just moves up next to me. Stacey and I slide down next to the Trailer Park Boys and another couple who are about ready to go all cave man on the Mrs.'s ass. Stacey lightens the mood a bit when she shouts to no one in particular, "Oh my gosh! The bat boy (Boston's) is like a bat man". I note that he does indeed appear a bit "mature" for the position.
The Mrs. wiggles and jiggles her way to and through the 7th inning stretch. At this point she incurs the wrath of a group of guys in Section 136. A shouting match ensues. There are chants of "0 and 5" and many bad things are said about Carl Crawford. The Sox fans all decide they should stand and cheer on their team. They are booed. The fog gets thicker. Despite my dislike of the bunt, we employ it. It leads to a run, the only run, and the winning run. I still voice my displeasure with the bunt. Top of the 9th and out comes Firestarter fka "The Douchebag". I love me some Prodigy and I no longer hate Chris Perez, although I reserve the right to revert back to bringing the hate should he ever not live up to the standards of classic British electro-dance. Suck it Boston! You're 0-6 and we're sitting pretty atop the Central. Off to Detroit tomorrow to see my Zetterberg-less and probably Kronwall-less Wings.
