I’m not a fan of baseball. If I’m actually going to sit down and watch a sport, I want there to be some sort of element of excitement involved, and watching guys (some kind of portly for athletes, no?) trot around a field is just not my idea of excitement. I want action and fisticuffs. but despite the fact that televised baseball bores me to tears, I will attend games just for some stadium fun.
so last night we took our dad to the mets/cubs game for his father’s day present (see, you think we’re just slacker bloggers. but in fact we’re slackers with everything. so don’t take it personally.), and I acted the part of “random baseball fan” perfectly. I had a hotdog and popcorn. I sang “take me out to the ballgame” during the 7th inning stretch. I cheered and booed when necessary. I made brilliant remarks about the action on the field (“bunting is for bitches!”), heckled Mr. Met, and had a grand old time while masking the fact that I couldn’t care less about either team out there, nor the sport in general.
unfortunately, the people sitting directly behind us were not as adept at blending in with their surroundings. Had we all been at a family reunion - particularly a family with a penchant for horrible pop culture - they would have been golden. I’ll set the scene: man, woman, and little daughter meet up with second man, who has known man since the 7th grade, when one of them lended the other a shirt – but they can’t seem to remember which one did the lending. It should already be apparent that I know entirely too much about these people. so man and woman have not seen second man in awhile, and proceed to catch up about everything under the sun. second man’s daughter getting accepted into Columbia for grad school. Woman’s love for Johnny depp in “what’s eating gilbert grape”. Little daughter’s feelings on Orlando bloom. Second man’s last name. second man’s upcoming trip to italy, which he referred to as “the mafia coast” (a rather stupid remark to make in a stadium in Queens, NY, if you ask me). little daughter’s email address, spelled out (yet another stupid remark. hello, internet pedophiles can attend baseball games). man, woman and daughter’s collective love for American idol, especially Katherine McPhee for whom they have “the McPheever”.
solidifying the fact that they had no business being at a ballgame, they also left before it was over when the score was 8-7. Thankfully loveandcyanide was too busy stuffing face the entire game, or else we would have certainly had some choice words - shut up, just go home, you have the mcpheever?! you are a mcmoron! (thanks missy for that soon to be classic) - for the annoyingly chatty little group.