The Great American Past Time

Baseball has always been a thing for me and Dave. We love it. I love going to baseball games. There's something magical about everyone eating hot dogs, drinking beer, and sitting back in the hot sun and watching a baseball game. I don't know what it is. The smells aren't particularly wonderful. The food isn't THAT spectacular. Maybe I love baseball games so much because of the rarity of going to a live game while I was growing up. I went to my first baseball game when I was eight with my dad at Busch stadium and I got to see Ozzie Smith play. I loved his back flips! The Cardinals were good then, too. I can still picture my little two year old brother sitting in the recliner in our family room and yelling, "Ahh-thee! Ahh-thee!" (his version of Ozzie) every weekend. The day Dave and I officially started dating we went to an Astros game at Enron park in Houston. It was a magical time.

We decided earlier this year that we want to take our kids to all 30 major league ball parks in the next 13 years. We were going to wait a few years so Judson would remember them all, but I don't think we can wait! We're going to our first Orioles game in August and we'll probably go see the Nationals, while we're up there, too. It will be a great way for the kids to travel and see the United States (well, a large majority of the country). We just have to finish by the time Lucy goes off to college.

We don't have a major league team around us, so the Durham Bulls, or "THE Blue Guys" as Lucy and Gus call them, give us our little baseball fix. SAS has a skybox and Dave's team got to go last Thursday. The box is great, we went once last year with the kids. Apparently the kids were invited again, but somehow we didn't communicate that with each other, so I arranged for my mom to come over and watch the kids. It was a funny exchange between the two of us when we realized that he thought the kids were coming and I thought they were staying. We were trying to be all cryptic. They have big ears, you know. We ended up leaving the kids at home. We had no idea how much we needed to get out without them until we did. It was glorious. I LOVE going out in public without them, especially when it's just me and Dave. When (key word being "when") I hear a crying child (I tune most of them out), in my mind I'm thinking, "That's NOT MINE! Sucka!" I really do revel being out without the kids. I savor it, soak it up, and remember it fondly when I'm wiping poop from my kids bottoms or when they throw fits or when they fight. I love the lack of responsibility. Anyway, I digress. So we went to the game last Thursday, WITHOUT THE KIDS (did I mention that?) and had brats, and sweet potato fries, and beer, and grown-up conversations. One of Dave's new co-workers, literally I think the guy started that day, used to be Wool E. Bull, the mascot, for five years. Dave's new co-worker knows the old announcer who has worked for the Bulls for FOREVER. Seriously, I'm sure the guy was referenced somehow in Bull Durham. I would love to have lunch with the guy. Can you imagine the stories that man must have? Old men are a riot anyway. So the guy gives us a tour of the park. We went in the owners box. There's a barber chair with a wash sink in there. And a dude was getting his hair cut in the middle of the game. So cool. Then we saw the press box. The scoreboard is one of the old fashioned ones where people stand behind it and put the numbers in. So, we got to back-down-behind-in-the-gravel and watch them put up the numbers. Then we saw the batting cages behind the dug out and got to peek up in the dug out while the game was going on. It was so fun. I almost wish the kids were there to see it, they would have loved it, especially Gus.

Dave and I had a great night out. It was fun, it was relaxing. It was just what we needed.