The really nice guy doesn't really like baseball. Last year around this time, in our pre-dating phase, I had two free tickets and could only talk him into going to the last home game of the Reds (and his first ever!) by promising to stop at Hooters before. My free tickets turned out to be for seats way up and in the last row, the game wasn't that interesting (I don't know if that's a fair statement, we couldn't really tell from the distance...), and the really nice guy saw himself confirmed: Baseball is boring.
I, however, like baseball. Not being born in this country, I nevertheless have the feeling that I understand at least half of what's going on on the field, and I like the atmosphere in the stadium. I enjoy watching the constant movement of people in search for hot dogs, peanuts, and beer. Unfortunately, I haven't been to a single game the whole season so I knew this weekend was my last chance. Yesterday, I mentioned to the really nice guy that it would be great to go to the last home game again. "Huh," he says. "So that's kind of an anniversary thing?" Yeah, it sounds really charming when you put it this way. Even the idea of going to Hooters before the game doesn't seem convincing anymore. I guess he already considers that a package deal and there will be no baseball without Hooters in our future. I had to find another bait. "You said that you haven't driven your motorcycle forever. We could take it to go to the game," I suggested and luckily, he agreed.
So we make it to Newport, some of us have wings at Hooters, we take the ferry to the stadium and find our way to the ticket booth, since I don't have any free tickets this time. We are just about to buy tickets when a couple approaches us. "Are you buying tickets?" asks the guy. "Take these for free," he says and hands us two tickets. Now, how often does something like this happen? According to Alanis Morissette never - isn't it ironic?
But sometimes, nice things do happen. We have free tickets once again, are already happy, and almost freak out when we find out from where we will be watching this game... Our tickets turn out to have a value of $50 each and we sit right behind the Phillies' dugout. And what a difference it makes! The really nice guy starts to really get into the game, and we have a blast.
The Reds lose, but the real downfall is the way back because in the meantime it had started to rain. I'm not a huge motorcycle fan in the first place, and the idea of riding back in the pouring rain isn't really what I was hoping for after the game. We are soaked when we get back but the really nice guy assures me that I am a real biker now. "You raced the elements!"
So that's all it took? I will not have to buy a Harley Davidson leather jacket and get tattoos after all?
I'll keep you posted.
Bis bald,
SAPgirl
1 comment:
Alright, I guess I make a comment too since I promised that I will do so.
The apparel and certain body modifications will not make you a biker! It's the feeling being on the road with no metal box surrounding you and experiencing the elements whether they are comfortable or not, a real biker does not care.
I had had a lot of fun and the trip wasn’t that long anyway.
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