I think this is the first blog entry I have started with something other than a sentence broken into halves.
So last night I got the chance to head to MMP on the light rail to catch the game. It was a rather efficient way to get to the park, except I had to walk through a couple blocks of seedy downtownness. Houston’s downtown is pretty sketchy.
It was a no-promotion game against the Reds, so I figured the crowd would be pretty small (30,000 paid, no more than 20,000 attending) but I got there at fiveish anyway. First in line, first into the Crawford Boxes. I ran through the rows hoping to find something in a cup holder or under a seat, but there was nothing, so I put on my glove and hoped to catch something.
Hour-and-a-half-long story short, I caught nothing. Despite my obvious femininity, the Reds players were hesitant to give a baseball to an Astros fan, and there weren’t many righties taking BP. A very nice older man, whom I met in the line and talked to through BP, offered me a home run that he caught if I didn’t catch anything, but I ran away before he could find me after they put the cages away because I felt bad if he just gave it to me. I did, however, mess with a few Reds. There was one particularly short and skinny player who threw a bottle of Dasani to another guy in the outfield, and the wrapper came off and landed in center. I looked at him and yelled, “Hey! Don’t litter!” and he cracked up. It was sweet.
I kept score and bought a pack of Topps and a plastic display cube for the Zack Parker ball, and then I went downstairs during the eighth inning to position myself to get a ball from Doug Eddings, the home plate umpire. I couldn’t decide which way the “out tunnel” was, so I picked home side–WRONG. He left through a tunnel right at the end of the away dugout. However, the most irritiating thing was the usher above section 122; I had been seat-hopping all night and nobody checked my tickets, but he told me he had to through the end of the game (bullcrap no. 1). He also told me that the umpire wouldn’t have any baseballs to give away (bullcrap no. 2), and that even if he did he wouldn’t give them out (bullcrap no. 3). Then he finally let me go sit but he made me sit on the right side and told me “not to get in anyone’s way.” Dude, I’m not twelve, okay? I’m a big girl.
So long story short, had tons of fun winning and screaming for Playboy-bunny-dating Hunter Pence, caught nothing, received nothing, had fun sorting through my new baseball cards.
Oh, and it’s really hard to eat and keep score at the same time.