I enjoy organized sports as much as the next person. Okay, that’s totally a lie. I could not possibly care less about any team, player or championship game. I played soccer for nine years growing up. I got to be pretty good at it – and that was enough for me. Game over. To date, I have never watched a single soccer match on TV. (My relatives in England probably just had a mini-stroke reading that.)
On Monday, I scored some free tix to see the Kansas City Royals play. I go to about one Royals game a year. Every time I’ve seen them play, they’ve lost. I doubt I’m a bad luck charm, but who knows? Usually, I’m oblivious to the fact there’s a game going on. I’m too busy people-watching or shilling peanut shells on the ground. My friends that go to the game with me, meanwhile, are die-hard sports fans. They scream loudly for no good reason, drink their weight in beer and talk endlessly about getting laid.
Fortunately, Monday night’s company was slightly more civilized … thankyouverymuch. I went with my editor Kevin and good friend Sarah. Kevin’s boyish charm is appealing, but he’s about as exciting as lint. He also has the attention span of a gnat. He was mesmerized by the scoreboard most of the night. Thank God for shiny things. Sarah, meanwhile, was guzzling down $10 watered-down margaritas in souvenir hurricane glasses. If I’m going to pay $10 for a ‘rita, Van Halen had better be playing after the game.
We didn’t arrive at the game until late in the second inning. And technically didn’t find our seats until around the fourth inning. Once seated, I wasn’t budging until the seventh-inning stretch. I sent Malibu Ken and Skipper out for sustenance … they came back with sub-par nachos and, of course, a round of drinks. Life was good. Once we were all settled in for the evening – as if on cue – the Royals started smacking homerun after homerun. Since we were sitting about as far back as humanly possible, one ball came within three feet of me. I didn’t leap for it or anything as there were several surly-looking eight year-olds in front of me. I probably could have snagged the ball with ease. One quick yank on back of their respective mullets and they would have lost their balance.
The Royals ended up winning the game that night against the Minnesota Twins. Or so I heard. By the time the seventh-inning stretch was upon us, I was already clamoring to go. Plus, I was out of money. And it was hot. And I wasn’t looking forward to the hike back to the car.
Could have been worse, I guess. The Royals could have lost.