Crabbies For Sure

I hate baseball.
I find it mind-numbingly boring.

I have gone to baseball games all my life. 
I can remember going to the Memorial Stadium in Baltimore before it was torn down. 
I have sat on front porches on a hot summer evening, sipping sweet tea listening to a game on the radio. 
I attending a game with someone who caught a foul ball. 
I have eaten soft serve ice cream with sprinkle out of a miniature baseball helmet.
I have had peanuts and cracker jacks and I don't care if I never go back.

In the 5th grade I played softball and I ended up playing in the way (way) outfield because if I was close to any other players, my team, visiting team, did not matter.  I would engage them in conversation usually involving how hot I was and, "What inning is this?"

This past Wednesday, I got an email in my work in-box for free tickets to a local minor league baseball game. In a fit of sheer stupidity,  I reserved 4.  I may hate baseball, but it's hard to pass up free family time.

Game day came.  The kids were pumped.  Pman got off the bus at 4:15, we were eating dinner by 4:45.  About 2 hours before our usual dining time.

We loaded in the car, ran a quick errand and headed down the road. 

As we got closer to the town where the stadium was located we realized we did not have printed directions to the actual stadium.  J had been to the stadium before (before Pman was born).  No matter, he knew how to get to the road before the stadium.  We figured from there, surely there would be signs directing us toward the stadium.

Nope.

If you take the main roads, which we didn't, there are such signs.  Since we took the back roads, not only were there not any signs, the GPS on my phone could not locate us in any way. 

If my phone had independent speaking abilities it would have said, "Are you lost in a cabin in the woods?" Or maybe, "Do I need to establish some sort of search party?" And, "Who is your next of kin?"

We drove up and down the 10 mile stretch of road 4 times.  We asked for directions from people who worked at stores and gas stations at either end of the road.  Apparently no one on that side of the stadium knows exactly where the stadium was located.

Finally, a toothless, drunk woman told J to go, "Up this road and make a left onto Piney Church Road. "

Turns out she was mostly right.  However, it was a right turn onto Piney Church as left wasn't even an option, but still we got there.
The first pitch was thrown at 7:05p.m.
We arrived promptly at 8:40p.m.- top of the 5th inning.

Pman was starving.  BL was passed out in her carseat. J was inventing new curse words and I had a major headache.

We were destined for a memorable night.

We did have very good seats though, right behind first base, row M.  The seats were also right in front of the ridiculously overpriced playground.  That's right a playground with a $10 cover charge.

Pman dropped the standard kid line to gauge his parent's willingness to enter said oasis of greatness, "Wow, that playground looks fun."

wait. wait. wait.

J finally replied, "We are here to watch baseball.  We are watching baseball."

So we did.
J and I got beers and shared popcorn.
The P's got cotton candy and ring pops.

Four innings later, it was clear "our team" was not going to reign victorious.  So, as we headed back to the car, a mere hour and ten minutes after our arrival, I stole two balloons from the popcorn vendor as we staggered past.

My children left with a sugar high, balloons tied to their wrists, and a optimistically neutral opinion of baseball. J handed me the keys and we made it home in record time.

Then Sunday, we took them on a pirate ship cruise.  It was fun, but a lot less eventful.

Selfie or Family Portrait?