From coaching my daughters’ softball teams to watching the SF Giants win the series, baseball is a way to kick back and relax. Well, except the coaching part. That’s just nuts.
But, as with everything else . . . people ruin s***. The hubbie and I thought we’d catch a Bees game, hoping to watch major leaguer Josh Hamilton who has been rehabbing in the great city of Salt Lake. We bought tickets, then sat back to watch the game on a beautiful spring evening.
IMMEDIATELY, people began ruining s***. Here are the things driving me crazy at the ball game:
- The man in front of me. He was eating a hot dog. Only not just any hot dog. This hot dog was smothered in so much crap, that it dripped onto his beard, shirt, lap and many of the surrounding spectators. I was mesmerized. I couldn’t look away as he shoved the disgusting ball game delicacy into his pie hole. Plus, I could hear him chewing.
- No 10-run rule. The first inning lasted FOREVER, because the Bees don’t do defense.
(Please, have another home run, visiting team.)
- People in general. We were situated in our uncomfortable seats, when the lady four seats down had to get up and buy beer. So we all stood up to let her through. Then she had to climb back to her seat. More standing. And then go get more beer, which meant more standing. Add the fact she was drunker and slushier each time she stumbled by us. It was like Catholic mass: standing, sitting, standing, sitting (and praying for the Bees to do something).
- Kids at the ball game. A baseball game is no place for children. Once they finish their chicken fingers (the top of the first inning) they whine, beg, fight, beg, whine and fight for the remainder of the game.
(Yes, we know you’re bored. We get it. Shut up.)
- The mother of these children. If you take your kids to a ball game and expect them to sit still for three hours, you are insane. DO NOT yell at your kids for being bored. DO NOT yell at your kids for begging repeatedly for cotton candy, soda, popcorn, ice cream, etc. You knew what to expect when you brought the rugrats.
- The man in front of me, part 2. Once Hot Dog man finished hunching over his ballpark repast, he sat up straight, and I realized he was just a little shorter than Godzilla. We were sitting behind home plate, so I couldn’t see the pitcher, the batter, second base or center field. So I grabbed some paper and started writing a blog.
- Food. The only time I eat a hot dog is when I’m in a ball park or being tortured at girl’s camp. But shelling out $20 for 2 hot dogs, 2 drinks and bags of chips seemed a leeeetle steep. Plus, the line was so long we missed an entire inning while the ADHD serving staff tried to fill orders.
- Josh Hamilton. The professional outfielder has been sidelined due to an injury, but he hurt his thumb Thursday night–and didn’t even play on Saturday. He returns to the Angels this week.
All that for nothing.