In true Eastern European style he paid only $5 over the ticket price for two seats. We found out later that Red Sox tickets are the most expensive tickets in the baseball market. He had no idea what constituted a good seat, but we had seats and it was less than an hour until the first pitch. I hurried home and my usually comfortable blue rubber Crocs rubbed raw spots on the tops of my feet, but I didn’t want to slow down and be late for the fun. I was hungry too, but ate only an apple in anticipation of the ball park goodies.
When we converged at the house, L. had already donned his red t-shirt, but I settled for a green t-shirt, jeans and comfortable shoes. We made it to the park on time (about 20 minutes walking), found our seats and settled in for the event. Our seats were straight down the first base line all the way out past the yellow foul line. It was field level, but just across from the bull pen. We were happy. In fact, it was perfect. The weather was pristine. I hardly needed the light sweater I had brought and a breeze kept the American flag fluttering at half mast to honor the victims of Hurricane Katrina.
We had it all: beers, foot-long hotdogs (with mustard, raw onion and relish, oh my!), a few peanuts from our friendly neighbors (who have a four-year son adopted from Korea with the pictures to brag about him), the friendly drunk a few seats over, the rowdy drunks who got thrown out, fly balls in our direction, a homerun, the seventh-inning stretch, we sang “take me out the ball game,” Wally the frog mascot came by to spread good cheer and of course several rounds of the Wave. Not to mention a 6 – 3 Red Sox victory over the Anaheim Angels.
No comments:
Post a Comment