7/13/03
We headed to the ballpark to take in a minor league baseball game last night. Deb and I have always been big fans of minor league sports. In fact, we were engaged at a minor league hockey game (but that's another story).
It just seems these minor league teams try harder than their major league counterparts. At the minor league games we pay five or six dollars for bleacher seats that still feel like we're right in the action. We can feast on hotdogs and beer without a second mortgage. We can watch drunk fans puke on themselves as they put their foreheads on the end of ball bats, spin around and then try to make a mad dash to home plate.
In contrast we'll pay twenty or thirty bucks for just okay seats in a huge major league venue. Beer and hot dogs taste the same, but cost oh so much more money. Plus, we always leave with the impression that the players and ownership feel they are granting us a tremendous favor by allowing us to pay to watch them play.
We'll continue to go to MLB or NHL games, we just know there's something better out there.
Like last night's game. It wasn't very exciting and our team was losing. However Deb, Allie and I were up in the stands laughing at the between inning shenanigans Like the two six-year-old girls running the baselines, trying to change into uniforms three times too big and then sprinting toward home with spikes that looked like canoes strapped to the end of their legs. We were chomping on hotdogs, chips and peanuts (I love throwing the shells on the ground, it feels like I'm getting away with something).
Allie was well-behaved; as usual. She was busy climbing around on the aluminum bleachers pausing every now and again to point out the birdies that were flying around near the field. If I felt she was a little too busy for her (and surrounding spectator's) own good I'd collect her in my arms and try to instruct her in the subtleties of the game. "That man's trying to throw the ball really hard so the the other guy trying to hit the ball will be humiliated in front of all of us and start crying on the bus ride home."
I was jiggling Alle in time with the music that played between innings. The dancing would stop long enough for Allie to stand on the seat in front of me while I held her arms. She'd lean forward as far as she could without tearing her rotator cuff. Kind of like that scene from Titanic only she wasn't shouting about being king of the world she was just trying to see how far she could go.
We found out.
After repeated warnings Allie continued to twist her sweaty little arms around in my hands. I repeated my standard description of her falling, hitting her head, bleeding all over her shirt and then going to the hospital where she'll die and then we'll have to bury her. She's heard this story a lot. I don't think she's buying it anymore because she twisted her arm free of my grip.
Here's how it looked:
In illustration #1 you'll see Allie and me having a great time. Illustration #2 shows how quickly things can change. Her little skull against the aluminum made loud sound. Loud enough for everyone around us to notice that someone should get on his/her cell phone and call child protective services. "Oh my god. Is she all right?" I heard other alarmed voices behind me but I was more focused on Allie. She started to cry, but she wasn't really hurt. No blood. Not even a mark or indentation. However she continued crying and as I tried to comfort her I could feel the looks of everyone around me. If someone would have shouted, "KILL HIM!" I have a feeling it may have happened. That's when I took Allie away from Deb and got out of the bleachers.
I didn't know what the hell I was going to do with my crying kid, but I knew I had to take some sort of action rather than sit there and allow lynching fantasies to start dancing in the mob's collective heads. As I carried Allie down to steps I imagined everyone thought I was taking my crying daughter to a nurse's station for a quick CAT-scan. Actually, my plan was to buy her ice cream.
I think Debbie thought it was best that we take off so we went home and put Alex to bed.
Allie's fine.
In other news, Melissa wrote and suggested some baby names. They're excellent suggestions and we're grateful she wrote. The exciting part is if we choose one of her suggestions Melissa is one step closer to a Greg & Deb on the Web T-shirt. Remember, it's one of my old, stained Fruit-of-the-Loom's decorated with a sharpie. I'm sure everyone would like a chance to own their very own Web shirt so keep those suggestions coming. Remember, you only have until July 29 so write TODAY!
Oh. One last thing: ANTS!