i’m your color-commentator.

Me again!

As you know, I am a fan of sporting events, and have become an unexpected fan of hockey in the process, for more than just the pretzels at Mariucci Arena and all the hot goaltender-roughing action. I mean, really, I kinda like hockey a lot now. It’s weird.

Last night, I went to a Twins game with my sister and eight billion of her coworkers. I’ve been to many baseball games in the past, and am always amused by sitting way up in the upper deck, and, well, I can’t remember what else was amusing about baseball, but I’m sure it was something. Maybe the vendors? I dunno.

So last night, we were in row 7 in the lower deck, which was a new thing to me. We were on the left field side, which meant that too often a ball would come hurtling directly at my skull, and I found this rather alarming since I’m not one to pay much attention to what’s going on in the game, so much as I pay attention to everything going on around me. A guy who looked like Fred Durst’s younger, whiter brother sitting two rows ahead of us even caught a ball and threw it back, which I understand means that he gets to be on TV. If you were watching the Twins game on TV last night, which I’m sure you weren’t, did you see me? I was the one in the Wienermobile hoodie.

Because EVERYBODY LOVES THE WIENERMOBILE.

Anyway! Baseball is way boring. I had to come up with amusements, so I went with my favorite sporting-event game: play really, really dumb.

Granted, I don’t know much about sports, and I tend to ignore professional sports because it’s hard to see the sport in million-dollar salaries being blown on coke and hookers, but still! I understand principles of the games and such, and I like to figure out the rules by watching. Also, I really enjoy pestering the hell out of whoever I’m with, and who better than my sports-loving sister? It gets her really riled up.

Before we even found our seats, I started asking her when ‘inning-halftime’ was. What I meant was the baseball equivalent of the twixt-period intermission in hockey, the time during which I go to the bathroom and buy my pretzel. I figured it was the 7th-inning stretch, but I like my term way better. It took her forever to realize I didn’t mean the point in the middle of each inning where they switch sides. What I didn’t know is that the 7th-inning stretch really isn’t a break, either. Baseball is so boring that you just go wander off any old time, and it’s not like you missed much.

So, how the game works is this: I point in the general direction of something and name it, for example…

I can go on forever. We argued about the bullpen (where the lazy chewing dudes sit out in the outfield) vs the dugout (where the team-spirit guys line up to high-five and smack each other on the butt). She laughed her ass off when I asked about the designated hitter, ‘does that mean he has someone else run for him?’ I kept calling the catcher the goaltender, on account of the fact he wears padding and a mask and hunkers down; she told me that logically, the pitcher is actually the equivalent of the goaltender. I was having none of it, though. I told her the guy who comes out and rakes around the bases was the baseball zamboni. I said that hitting 40 out of 100 pitches didn’t sound like that great an average to me. When she mentioned the lines for the football field, I pointed way down at the other end and told her that if there was a tiny metal chicken standing there, I could totally shoot it from where I sat.

In my sports-world, the opposing team is always called the ‘bad guys’. As everyone knows, the bad guys are hot simply by virtue of being the bad guys. Our team is not the good guys, they’re just ‘our guys’. Of course, we want our guys to win, because that means we get to yell. It all works out, though, because when the bad guys lose, they become full of pent-up aggression. Which is a good thing, especially in hockey. I don’t know about baseball so much; I didn’t see guys slamming each other into the wall at all, although I did see the pitcher beaning dudes a whole hell of a lot. Which is pretty funny, too.

Our guys won, but I’m not sure than anyone noticed. I don’t know if I’ll go see the Twins again, but I hear the St Paul Saints have some kinda craziness at their events. I wonder if they have good pretzels?

Holy crap, it’s too nice to be inside anymore. Later!
Jenni