Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I recently went to an Orioles game, which doesn’t sound unusual until you realize that I’m not a sports fan. Wait, let me rephrase that. I’m not a normal sports fan. (Of course, I’m not a normal anything for that matter.) Your normal, average sports fan loves to root for their favorite football/basketball/baseball/hockey team, be happy when they win and miserable when they lose, because as we all know, the way that athletes we’ve never met perform in the arena has such a profound impact on us. For example, if they win, we will gain unimaginable riches and have sex with celebrities; whereas if they lose, we will become homeless and die of cholera.

I am too self-absorbed to care about sports teams. The one sport I watch is the one I’m passionate about: wrestling. Not the kind of wrestling most people think of. I mean collegiate and Olympic wrestling. I don’t need to spend my sports-viewing time watching actors smack each other around and hit each other with chairs. That’s what the Three Stooges are for.

Now, I’m not saying that professional sports teams aren’t important. It’s just that there are other things I consider more important. Health. Love. Freedom. Safety. Friends. Parties. Beer. Music. My dog. Sunbathing. Laundry. Hedgehogs.

Anyway, the other day my friend Carl, who has been my housemate for most of my post-marriage years and has suffered through my 40-woman dating spree, invites me to an Orioles game with him and his kids, as he has an extra ticket that he bought for his girlfriend who couldn’t make it, so he generously gives it to me. I suppose, then, that this could technically be considered another date for me, the main difference being that the evening won’t cost me half a day’s wages and he probably won’t file a restraining order.

I agree to go, not that I like baseball, but because it’s an opportunity to spend some quality time with my friend and his children. Oh, and did I mention that it was free?

The four of us drive to Camden Yards, paying a mere ten bucks to park, which is chump change when you consider the price of tickets and merchandise. We begin our adventure by immediately getting gouged by a hat vendor outside the park who charges $25 for a kid-size cap. Why so much? Well, the hat has the new Orioles logo, you see. The team logo changes every few years because if it didn’t, people couldn’t be coerced into buying new merchandise.

Inside the park we peruse more merchandise, and we realize that we got a great deal outside because in here baseball caps are on sale for $40. I haven’t seen such highway robbery since my divorce.

Our seats are in the “Left Field Picnic Perch”. They cost considerably more than the nosebleed section but come with a privilege that makes them worth the extra cost: free food. Of course, by “food” I mean “stuff that they stopped serving in prisons because of all the lawsuits”. The culinary fare consists mainly of nachos, hot dogs, sodas, and popcorn so salty that I actually consider buying an eight-dollar Miller Lite to wash it down.

Another benefit of the Picnic Perch is that the “Upper Reserve” hangs over it, which greatly reduces the chance of getting pooped on. Well, by birds anyway.

So we get to our seats, and as I scan the field I notice that there are no cheerleaders. Why not? I mean, football and basketball teams have cheerleaders. I thought of a great cheer that Orioles cheerleaders could chant:

“Let’s go Orioles!
Try not to suck!”

One of our first experiences after sitting down is hearing a woman, who sounds like she’s been smoking since she was three, proclaim about one of the players, “That’s my future ex-husband.” I can’t help it but for a split second I imagine what it would be like to be married to her, and suddenly every woman I’ve ever dated looks like marriage material.

The stadium has lots of empty seats. Even though a number of people drove from out of town because the Yankees are playing, attendance is pretty low. There were more people at my bar-mitzvah.

Between innings they keep people awake with music. They also show close-ups of fans on the big screen. My favorite part is when they select the Massengil-Depends-Listerine-Anusol Fan of the Game.

The Orioles lose, but although their fans are somewhat disappointed, they still had fun, because the value of sports is entertainment. So what if your team loses? Cholera isn’t always fatal.