Last night, against my better judgement, I went to a Reds game with my roommate, her boyfriend, and his roommates. If I were smarter, I would have stayed home like a good little girl because I knew this morning I had to be at work early. Early like still dark. THAT is early.
But I wasn't a good little girl. I went out on a school night. And, although we left the game an inning early because the Reds were up by 7, I didn't go to bed until well after midnight. Which is why I drank so much coffee this morning, which is why I just peed a latte.
I'm so glad I went, though. We sat in the cheap seats and ate one dollar hot dogs and drank six dollar beers. By the fifth inning my ass was going numb and Heidi and I had already rearranged the positions so that left field was playing right field, the pitcher was the catcher, the ump was playing first base, and the security guard was shortstop. My ass still hurts and this morning I wondered why I had Kathleen Turner voice until I remembered that I had been yelling a lot when Heidi and I decided to "get really into the game," which basically meant screaming obscenities, stomping our feet, and streaking the field so we could be on ESPN only we didn't get to that last part.
I didn't really give a shit who won the game (I was leaning toward the Reds but only because they shoot off fireworks if they win), but I got a glimpse of what it is that people love about baseball. After getting one piece of bad news and one piece of disturbing news earlier in the day, it felt good to sit back and concentrate on the the game. The parts that I paid attention to, anyway, when Heidi and I were playing "serious." It was nice. Relaxing. Even though the person behind me kept getting his nuts on me (um), the parents at the end of the row were blocking the aisle with both their baby and stroller, the guy sitting next to me was inexplicably wearing a Cardinals shirt in a sea of Reds fans, and I was almost hit by the Wave at least ten times.