my only sports post
Last Friday I had the pleasure of attending my first Nationals game (against the Mets) with my good friend Molly. We had a great time kicking back and watching the game on the field and the activities in the stands.
I can never sit and watch a game on television because I fall right asleep, but I thoroughly enjoy watching games in person. As the game went on, I found myself jumping out of my seat and rooting for whoever made a great play. I'm a firm beliver of bipartisan cheering.
They must have translators on hand at all times because five of Friday's players were born in Spanish countries (Cuba, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, and Mexico). Molly and I translated all the names to English. Jose Vidro = Joe Glass, Jose Castilla = Joe Castile, Livan Hernandez = Lionel Hampton, Terrmel Sledge ... = lets play something else.
There was a group of 12 people sitting in the rows in front of us. They spent much of the game hailing down the beer vender, eating greasy chicken, and calling their "co-workers" on their cell phones so they could wave to each other from their respective seats.
While returning from a beer-chicken-peanuts-candy-run, one of these guys tripped on the steep steps and spilled water on the back of these two huge black guys' heads. Jaws dropped and you could hear a pin drop. Apologies extended and no incident. That white boy was really pale for a few minutes.
A woman sitting behind me kicked me in the head when she got up to visit the vender stands. She apologized and went on her way. When she got back, her husband tells her, "Thanks for kicking the biggest guy in the park." A few minutes later, she dropped peanut shells on my head. She apologized and her husband tells her "you're gonna get my ass kicked." Hi-larious.
There was a very cute boy, glove in hand, who jumped out of his seat at every swing with the hope of catching a foul ball. In one inning, two foul balls came our way, but the boy was nowhere in sight. He showed up later with a cup full of ice cream dots. He gave into marketing and had his baseball dream dashed.
The man sitting to my right beat the ump (not the ref, I learned) to his calls and
oddly enough, every call always favored the Nationals. A very cute, intoxicated man and his girlfriend jumped up and bumped chests after each home run. I was surprised by their undying love for the Nationals given that they only have been in existence for a few months.
I asked Molly who the mascot was and she told me it was Screech. I got all excited at the prospect of seeing my favorite Saved by the Bell character, but was disappointed when they dragged out an overweight baby eagle. Baby eagles screech?
Despite not getting to do the wave, I had a great time and hope to make it out to many more games. Next time I will bring my digital camera to catch the lunacy in the stands. Thank you, Molly, for the tickets.
I can never sit and watch a game on television because I fall right asleep, but I thoroughly enjoy watching games in person. As the game went on, I found myself jumping out of my seat and rooting for whoever made a great play. I'm a firm beliver of bipartisan cheering.
They must have translators on hand at all times because five of Friday's players were born in Spanish countries (Cuba, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, and Mexico). Molly and I translated all the names to English. Jose Vidro = Joe Glass, Jose Castilla = Joe Castile, Livan Hernandez = Lionel Hampton, Terrmel Sledge ... = lets play something else.
There was a group of 12 people sitting in the rows in front of us. They spent much of the game hailing down the beer vender, eating greasy chicken, and calling their "co-workers" on their cell phones so they could wave to each other from their respective seats.
While returning from a beer-chicken-peanuts-candy-run, one of these guys tripped on the steep steps and spilled water on the back of these two huge black guys' heads. Jaws dropped and you could hear a pin drop. Apologies extended and no incident. That white boy was really pale for a few minutes.
A woman sitting behind me kicked me in the head when she got up to visit the vender stands. She apologized and went on her way. When she got back, her husband tells her, "Thanks for kicking the biggest guy in the park." A few minutes later, she dropped peanut shells on my head. She apologized and her husband tells her "you're gonna get my ass kicked." Hi-larious.
There was a very cute boy, glove in hand, who jumped out of his seat at every swing with the hope of catching a foul ball. In one inning, two foul balls came our way, but the boy was nowhere in sight. He showed up later with a cup full of ice cream dots. He gave into marketing and had his baseball dream dashed.
The man sitting to my right beat the ump (not the ref, I learned) to his calls and
I asked Molly who the mascot was and she told me it was Screech. I got all excited at the prospect of seeing my favorite Saved by the Bell character, but was disappointed when they dragged out an overweight baby eagle. Baby eagles screech?
Despite not getting to do the wave, I had a great time and hope to make it out to many more games. Next time I will bring my digital camera to catch the lunacy in the stands. Thank you, Molly, for the tickets.
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