On Wednesday, I attended my first American baseball game, all thanks to my new/old homie, Pippy. His given name is Damian Pipkins and he is one of my new/old favs. We linked up again some months after I moved out here. We only have good times, so when he asked, “So what you talkin’ bout with that Angels game?”, I was immediately on board because as any friend of Pippy knows passing off an idea as if it were someone else’s is a recipe for good fun/laughs.
I confess, I have a very limited knowledge of baseball but I was an athlete and a two-timer in P.E. This being said, I retained the following: 9 to 10 innings, As far as terms I know that top means the first team is up to bat. bottom means 2nd team is up and after that the next inning begins. I know how fouls work. strikes count even if you tip it but not on the last one, i think. 4 balls are the sum of a walk. 3 strikes and you’re out.
(this was gleaned from an american colloquialism. what did we say before baseball?)
Finally, you get beamed with the ball, you run out and BRAWL! Right?
. . . it ain’t rugby and it doesn’t happen often but I’m waiting for that day. However, Pippy evokes such a vibe, see photo for reference. TRUST! Anyway, I knew stuff about the game and what brawls may await so it was fun to be a live spectator!
To start at the beginning and end at the end. . . once we reached our bleeder seats we fell into the routine. Get the food you don’t need but want the minute you sit down. Check!
Belt out foolishness like, “check his urine” (Pippy) when the opposing team pitches 97mph heat. Check! Kissing your neighbors cheek to cheek when your team scores/wins. Cheek! and Check-uh! Pippy is pretty bold.
I naturally rooted for my easties the Boston Red Sox. However they got their britches handed to them my the home team, 4-8. Either way, I loved being far removed among the action of people taking things way too seriously, i.e. keeping score like in gradebooks where teachers keep their assignments and shouting death threats to opposing enthusiasts. It was poppin’, I’m talking fireworks with every home run and crowd waves a rumblin’ in the stands, intense.
My only criticism for this grand slam of a past-time is that with a game where people do nothing but eat and drink in excess (hence the all american pasttime?). . . you’d think the setting would be a bit more accommodating, seats wider and further from the previous rows’ head. Whatever the discomfort, I can’t wait for our next Angels venture. I’m told the seats will be better but it’s all one to me!
¡Go Angels! . . . or the next eastern team that comes this way… to be honest, I have no loyalties.