Smokey on Sports, 609 words

I love going to the ballpark. I grew up just outside Columbus, Ohio which is home to the Yankees’ Triple-A team "The Columbus Clippers." Going to a Clippers game was a real treat. It only cost $3 to get through the gate and on special nights they sold hot dogs for ten cents.

There wasn’t a bad seat in the house. The bleachers stretched from first base over to third and everyone could see the towering scoreboard in center field. We were so close to the field that the ballplayers all looked like giants.

Clippers games were my first introduction to America’s favorite pastime. I would watch the game with wide eyes as I unknowingly built a mountain of peanut shells at my feet. With each out I would count down to figure out how many more until the seventh inning stretch. I knew that’s when I could stand up and sing my heart out.

The other day my wife and I went to our first Dodgers game. $38 for two field-level reserved seats along the first base line. $17 each plus a $4 handling fee. Not too bad, though the only "handling" I witnessed was when the guy at the will call window pulled them off the printer and put them into my hands.

As we searched for our seats, we quickly realized that "along the first base line" meant deep right field, under the overhang, next to the foul pole. Most fans were sharing binoculars so they could see who was batting.

The game had already started. I looked up at the scoreboards to find out what inning it was. I looked and I looked and I finally figured it out, when the announcer asked me to join in the singing of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."

When the man lugging a shoulder bag full of peanuts walked down our aisle, I hollered my order, "Hey peanut man!" He tossed a bag from 20 feet away and it hit me square in the chest. He yelled back, "Five Bucks!" I was tempted to hurl it back at him. I reluctantly reached for my wallet instead.

As the game progressed, I eagerly awaited the beer guy. I was only 20 steps from the concession stand, but I wanted to hear him shout out, " ICE! COLD! BEEEEeeeer…HERE!" The water guy passed by. It was a bargain at only $4.50 a bottle. There was frozen lemonade, ice cream, cotton candy, and some guy selling rubber ducks, but no beer guy. I imagine he was catering to another section where he could see what inning it was

To top off the day the Dodgers lost. Do I regret going? No. We really had a great time. Our seats, though not what we expected, were in a fun section. We started the wave and tossed around beach balls. I learned that five bucks buys enough peanuts to build a huge mountain of shells. I sang "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" at the top of my lungs and forgot how frustrated I was about not knowing which inning we were in. I never did hear the beer guy, but I’m sure he’ll be at the next game I go to.

Yeah, I’ll be back. It never quite lives up to my expectations, but I usually have a good time. I’ll still complain about high prices, bad seats and poor service. I have high standards for most things I love. I probably won’t be completely satisfied until $3 tickets and ten-cent hot dogs return the ballpark. Oh, and I’d like to know what inning it is too.

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