The attendees of the professonal baseball game had a wonderful time. The stadium, I was told, was immaculate. The grass looked as if it had been combed. They got a deal on the tickets which included food and programs. All that was extra to the experience of being at the game. Being there. Roaring with the rest of the crowd.
The seats stayed crowded until the 6th inning.
Now, we had looked up the weather on line before they left for the trek to the stadium. But the seer into the future did not depict the blowing clouds of rain that dumped on the field (and caused a fan retreat into the corridors) during that inning. The rain delay lasted so long that J arrived home just after it abated enough to allow play to resume.
We watched the rest of the game on television. It went to 12 innings. We lost by one point.
There was an article in this morning's paper. A new minority owner of the team had been given a personal tour of the facility before the game started. No wonder the place looked so good.
They were ready for inspection . . .
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2 comments:
Don't you just hate when that happens - having to finish the game at home, in air conditioned comfort with a cool beverage and a sandwich which costs much less than a hotdog and a coke at the park. Still, nothing is quite like that first bite of hotdog with the sound of the crowd around and the smell of ball-park mustard rising from the bun.
Still, 12 innings on those seats...
J could complare the on-the-spot experience with the couch potato kick-back, in the same evening. He really liked being there . . .
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