My buddy Matt wants to write a blog on WNST.net.
At least, I think he does, anyway.
While I spent my evening watching the game in glorious MASN HD, Matt went to the game last night and I found this in my inbox this morning.
He asked me to post it as a “guest” blog (whatever that is, LOL?).
Here it is:
What an experience last night was. I get a call from a buddy at 5:15 saying he has two nosebleeds for the game. I, somehow or another, get approval from the wife, and he shows up at my house at 5:30.
We hurry to our local establishment for a quick beer and a shot. From there we head to the White Marsh Park and Ride, where we board the bus at 6:25. We make downtown by 6:45, but the bus has to go around the entire stadium before the driver lets us off.
The line to get in the ballpark is enormous and largely dressed in pinstripes. As we wait, one of the pinstripes waiting behind me (some 200 pound overweight slob) has the nerve to say to some guy in a Red Sox jersey “We call this Yankee Stadium South. I guess you guys could call it Fenway South.” He laughs and concurs. Some arch rivals united by our pitiful orange existence.
Anyway, I guess the wait, the shot, the pinstripes and my Oriole pride got the better of me, and I unloaded. I said, “Dude, you got smoked last night. I know it’s only April, but you need to shut your trap.” Chubbs was dumbfounded. The other 5 Oriole fans in line nodded a weak approval.
So we get to the ticket taker, the obvious cause of our delayed entry, (must have been senior citizen volunteer night or something) and admitted we are. Quick bathroom stop and then up the escalator. I prefer the ramp, but there was already one out. We make the concourse and Burres has apparently avoided disaster in the first.
We find our seats. Sec. 354 row K seats 13, 14. About halfway between home and third, but way, way up there. Maybe only 10 rows left behind us. Quick pan of the stadium reveals a sparse first inning crowd, but filling in for sure.
By the third it’s pretty well packed where we are, but a ghost town on the upper deck corner in left. We can tell early on that we are sore thumbs in our section, but what the hell. I would say that if you took an aerial, we were an orange bulls eye on a dartboard of Yankee blue.
All the more fun. I must say, the guy next to us was great. Yankee fan transplanted to D.C. for work. The guy was keeping score. I love guys who keep score. My dad taught me how to keep score. His dad probably did, too. It’s a shame that his knowledge and legitimate fandom was overshadowed by some guy in front of us wearing a road Yankees jersey with #25 on the back and Mussina across the top. I can’t resist snapping a photo.
First, Mussina wears #35 and second, no Yankee jersey has their name on it. That might be the thing that irritates me most. Why do you have to put Rodriguez on a #13 Yankee jersey? As I sit there laughing to myself, the O’s go up four-zip.
The sore thumbs are admittedly obnoxious at this point, but what the hell else do we have? As we stir it up, it occurs to me that these Yankee fans really don’t care. They identify themselves by being Yankee fans, but couldn’t name five players. They couldn’t tell you what a hit and run is or what the infield fly rule is.
The scorekeeper next to me could, but not these other idiots that have no idea that Reggie Jackson actually wore black and orange once. So with the lead in hand, I make the executive decision that we need to be with our people.
We decide that section 384 looks like a good fit. What was a ghost town 90 minutes earlier has filled in with orange. We plop ourselves on the aisle and relish in the trash talk. F the Yankees. Jeter sucks. Maybe we’re no better, but we’re at home.
I look across the aisle and see a familiar face. My best friend growing up is sitting right there. Our high school and college days took us down different roads, but what a reunion. We talked for an inning and laughed out loud at the absurdity of the of Yankee and Red Sox fans taking over our town. Fun stuff.
As it became evident that the Yankees were done, our new section got louder. First time in a long time that I felt right down there.
The way back to the bus was best. Drunk college kids from Baltimore chanting “Yankees suck. Yankees suck.” And the fools dressed in pinstripes with nothing to say. They got beat. Shutout, in fact.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Girardi was seen doing a rain dance on the mound right about now. He might get his wish, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve already won the series and their traps are shut for the time being.
For the record…if I’m Trembley and they do actually play today, I’d scratch Trachsel and run Albers out there. I know he pitched an inning Friday, but when you’ve got momentum…