Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Take me out to the ballgame...

Andy is on a mission. A mission to 1. get me more interested in sports, and 2. go to professional sporting events with me so that he can 3. have fun and 4. get me more interested in sports. I mostly jest, but I would say that, while Andy is not a sports fanatic, he is a sports fan. He grew up playing soccer, and going to several baseball games each year. My family, on the other hand, had no interest in sports, except as a mere passing cultural interest. "Ah, yes, the baseball game...Americana at its best." So we were lucky if we went to one baseball game every couple years. I could be wrong (sisters, feel free to correct me on this one), but I think I was the most interested in sports of the four of us. As in, I played volleyball in middle school, and actually wanted to go to baseball games during the summer. So, Andy has his work cut out for him.

Take me out to the crowd...

Ready for some baseball!

"I'm really excited..." Andy grinned, a bit sheepishly, as we approached the Safeco Field Baseball Stadium. We joined a mini procession of people--families decked out in baseball caps and shirts with players' names boldly printed on the backs, young couples on a date, and soon-to-be-raucous groups of single thirty-somethings, eager to get inside so they could get some beer. That's one of the really cool things about baseball games--everyone comes. On the big screen, we were introduced to an African American woman who was celebrating her 102nd birthday. "She looks great for 102!" Andy exclaimed. "I hope I look that good when I'm 80" I thought.

We successfully navigated past a young man with a sign warning us to "Repent! and escape Hell-fire," an older veteran, shouting something unintelligible from a megaphone, and scalpers wanting our extra tickets. We sat in the outfield, and in just the right location so that we got the brunt of the setting sun (We shouldn't complain, though, because the days are coming when we will miss the sun!). 

Our actual view. Note the sunlight in the top right corner of the photo.

Zoomed in, and they still look like ants.

Something curious I've noticed about Seattle: during the singing of the national anthem, I saw only one or two people in the crowd placing a hand over their heart. And I think I was the only one singing. Growing up in the Midwest, I remember everyone always placed a hand over his/her heart, in addition to standing and removing one's hat. Is this a dying tradition?

Buy me some peanuts and cracker* jack...

We brought most of our food to the game, because the prices are just plain ridiculous at the stadium. Ten dollars for a cheap beer? You've got to be kidding me. But we did decide to splurge on sharing some funnel cake during the sixth inning. At six dollars, it was worth it!  *Incidentally, I kept on accidentally saying, "Apple Jacks" instead of cracker jacks. Oh well.

I don't care if I never get back...

Yep. We know we're cute.

Baseball games are loooooooong. I always forget this. Fortunately, we brought some cushions to sit on. And they do their best to keep you entertained with songs, and the "wave," and hat tricks. And if you really wanted to, you could just hang out in the beer garden the whole game. We didn't do that, though.

Let me root, root, root for the Mariners, if they don't win it's a shame...

Well, we did our best, really, to support the Mariners. But, c'mon, they only have one player with more than .300 batting average! Sheesh! (Andy tells me that if you have less than .300, you're not very good). I wasn't expecting that we'd win, since the Mariners are notorious right now for being awful. But it was really bad.

For it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game!

The Mariners were the last to bat, since we were the home team. The score was 1 to 5 at that point, and it was clear that the Mariners had given up. The last batter tried three times to hit a home run (couldn't he just have gotten on base?), and struck out. Those of us who were still left (people started heading out during the 8th inning, when it was clear we weren't going to win), left with heavy hearts.

On our way back to our car, a street performer was playing "Walking My Baby Back Home" on a saxophone. And as we walked, hand in hand, I reflected that a baseball game is more about the experience than winning or losing. And as cheesy as it sounds, making memories with the ones you love.
 

You are welcome!