So Joyce bought us tickets in the third row of Dodger Stadium last week, right behind home plate. In those blue padded seats you always see in the background on the TV.
I was a little nervous about going to a ballgame with Joyce. I’m nervous about it whenever I go to a game with a chick, probably because Mom and Melanie Kate were so annoying at Smokies games when they came with me and Dad. I’m the first to admit that, if you’re not paying attention, baseball can get pretty boring. That’s one reason I keep score. And keeping score takes some concentration. It’s not like Joyce had to sit there without saying anything for three hours, but I got the feeling she thought that she might have to. She didn’t say anything during the 1st. Even during the commercial break. Finally I had to tell her talking was allowed. Just not when someone’s batting.
It was a great warm night, perfect for baseball. And good for sitting outside with your girlfriend. (Even without lightnin bugs lol.)
I was way relieved that I wasn’t going to have to explain the game to Joyce. I had a date like that once. The chick was super hot but super stupid and knew nothing about baseball. Like she didn’t know three strikes and you’re out. That was a nightmare. But Joyce knew the rules…turns out she’d even played a little softball when she was young.
The only problem was the game. And the only problem with the game was the 9th. Now I can tell everyone that I’ve seen a great Clayton Kershaw performance. I’ve seen them on TV, but being there is another story. Getting a batters eye view of one of the greatest pitchers in the history of the game was dang cool. And I was lucky enough to see 8 innings of him at work.
Then the shit hit the fan the way it’s been hitting the fan every game. Ok: this is why we were all telling them to get some relief pitchers before the trade deadline. Yeah, we have a great closer…but a great closer can’t be the whole bullpen. You need guys who’ll get you to the closer…and – duh – you need someone who can close if there’s a problem with your regular closer like we have now.
We should have won that game. I don’t blame Scott Alexander for the whole loss. He isn’t a bad pitcher: he’s dang good at making betters hit grounders to get easy outs. But he fell apart Monday night. He almost had it, but, when he hit Austin Slater with that pitch, I knew we were fucked. It also hurt to be sitting only 80 feet away from him: you could see in his face that he knew he was drowning. He wasn’t exactly fixin to cry, but he was dang close by the end. Since pulling him on Sunday had backfired, they had to keep him in so we could lose with him on Monday. I felt sorry for the dude. But very little in baseball is harder than getting those last three outs.
The offense let Kershaw down, too. He deserved a whole lot more than a 1 run lead, but that’s all they gave him. That didn’t make Alexander’s job any easier. But I’m trying not to think about that and concentrate instead on the awesome job Kershaw did and getting to sit close enough to hear the batters say the stuff you only see them mouth on the TV.
I’d have been a lot more pissed off after the game if I’d been with Keaton up in the Reserve. Even though the team lost, the seats (and even the Dodger dogs off that fancyass plate) were a cool surprise. I know Joyce spent a ton of money on me, but this time it really was on something that made me happy.
I hope Meemaw would think I thanked Joyce properly. She does a lot of cool stuff for me, and I always thank her for that, but this was something really out of the ordinary. It’s not every day that someone spends that kind of money on me – or spends time thinking about what there is out there that would make me happy.
When we got back to the car, I kissed her and told her she was a dang cool girlfriend. From the look on her face, I could tell she liked that.
I think she liked it too when I made us stop at the Rite Aid on the way home. She was out of pistachio ice cream and I knew I was going to want some later on.
♠♣♥♦
It’s been a terrible week for the Dodgers since the game we went to, and I’m not going to write about it. Shit, man…a fuckin balk with the bases loaded?
But I have two messages for Yasiel Puig:
- never get into a fight with a catcher…take a swing at that mask and you’ve broken your hand
- if you’re gonna get ejected from a game and suspended, make sure you at least get to take at least one swing at somebody.
I also have a message for Nick Hundley:
- don’t pick a fight with a dude built like Yasiel Puig.
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