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IN WHICH
I Clear Up a
Problem I (and my Aunt) Noticed Today, the Game Begins, The Yankees Take
the Lead, Four Innings Pass, A Big Stinking Heap of Beer is Purchased, AND
- in the Meantime - I Have A Problem.
Last time,
when I said, "The boy was going to the bathroom," what I meant
to say was, "The boy was leaving to go to the bathroom."
Public urination would have been worth more than one sentence in this
particular story. I noticed this sentence this morning when I read
the email, and my aunt Susan sent me a worried email this afternoon,
asking for clarification on where exactly the boy was going to the
bathroom. I can't help but be disappointed that the rest of you
missed it, but given the way you leave the house in the morning, I'm not
exactly surprised that observation isn't your forte. Now we will
move on.
I tell you, because otherwise you wouldn't notice.
El Duque was pitching for the Yankees, and he started off great - striking
out the first two hitters, Ichiro and Mark McLemore. The first
two-strike count was greeted with thunderous standing cheers, and the
strikeout with even more of the same. But when it came time to sit
down, parts of the gentleman on my left had captured my coat between the
seats. I struggled to free the coat, and the man apologized,
shifting his weight with a sheepish look on his face. I finally
freed the coat.
The guy next to me was a nice guy, and a quality baseball fan too, for
reasons that will become evident later. But he was also - in all
honesty - morbidly obese, and my coat got caught beneath him in various
ways every time one of the two of us stood up for the next few innings.
Finally I took it off, and it turned out to be warm enough to live without
it. It went under my seat with the other stupid pieces of clothing I
had brought - including the orange shirt I planned to wave at some
undetermined point when we might be on camera. Of course, this
assumed that we could ever be seen, and that I would ever want to watch
the tape.
In the bottom of the first, the Yankees, in the person of Bernie Williams,
took a 2-0 lead on a beautiful home run off Jamie Moyer. Things were
looking very good. This inning also began the Parade of the Beer,
closely followed by the Concession Two-Step. You see, no one near an
aisle at this game ever wanted a beer, needed a bathroom break, or wished
to visit the food vendors. It was Lydia the tattooed lady in the
very middle of the row (the one with the "Are you lookin' at my
woman, you arrogant little punk? Are you? I'll kill you with
the power of my Satanic eyes!" companion) had to squeeze through
every half-inning, and the college kids near us needed us to pass their
money to the vendor, then pass the beer to them, and by the time this was
done, Scott Brosius had struck out and it was time for another beer.
And when I - keeping in mind the man on my left - say Lydia "squeezed
through," I mean it.
So anyway, the first four innings were good ones, other than these minor
inconveniences. Hernandez had allowed only one hit, one walk, had
six K's, and we had a 2-0 lead, even though our hitters were a combined
1-13, with a walk. A 2-run double by Bret Boone, after an errant
throw by El Duque had destroyed an earlier chance at a double play, tied
the score in the fifth, and the Yankees went down in order in their half.
Then came the top of the sixth.
The night was, alas, very, very young.
TO BE
CONTINUED . . .
Round NINE
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NHS
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