Twelve-zip? Isn’t that supposed to be a football score? On the other hand, a lopsided blowout is proof your team won, so I won’t complain. It was hot, sunny and our seats were in the shade, if a little high up for foul-ball action. And how often do you get to see a triple? That was in the fifth, after which the Tigers were up 10-0.
Comerica Park — an antimatter version of Ford Field, known locally as Home of the Losers.
As should be blindingly obvious to regular readers, I’m not a sports fan, but if I were, I’d be a baseball fan. It has all the advantages — a season that runs through the pleasant ones of the natural world, players that are good-looking but not mutant freaks (depending on their steroid preferences), beer. My term editing sports copy ran through most of baseball season, and many of the people in the newsroom in the 5 a.m. hour were baseball fans, so I have these pleasant memories of a very quiet place punctuated by the clicking of computer keys and a discussion of the previous day’s games between Andrew (Yankees fan) and Rick (Indians fan). Rick was my boss, and tolerated even the stupidest questions I had about the game; it was like he was instructing the daughter he didn’t have (and who was older than him, but never mind that). He explained walk-off homers and the fierce power of the players’ union, sacrifice fly balls and saves, and ruled on whether “midsummer classic” should be up. (It should, so: Midsummer Classic.)
If I’d had another season with him, I might have understood why Sean Casey was intentionally walked in the third, but I’m afraid my understanding of the game remains at the kindergarten level. Oh, so what? There’s beer.
A Muslim family sat a row over from us, although I’m sure I’m getting the relationships wrong. Four girls approximately the same age (12-13-ish), all in headscarves, dressed American-style modest: long pants, but jeans; T-shirts, but with long-sleeved undershirts. One girl wore Ben Wallace’s Pistons jersey with matching headscarf, another chose Tigers blue/orange. Must be some of those moderate Muslims we’ve been hearing about lately. Also, sports fans.
And now the weekend is nearly here, and I have to catch up on all the stuff I put off when I was doing weekend-type stuff earlier in the week. We have now entered the Twilight Zone of the school year, in which no learning happens, replaced by the whirlwind of end-of-year parties, picnics and gift envelopes for the teacher. Jeez, whatever happened to an apple and a nice note saying “thanks for doing your job”? I don’t begrudge Kate’s teacher his gifts, but the first two weeks of every June is like my last year of high school.
OK, I’m officially bagging it. I’m distracted by Project Playlist. I’m trying to put together a list called Men You Should Avoid, based on my thunderstruck revelation that I own — and love — two songs that are basically about women who are in love with bums.* Not as in “rascally guys,” but “train-hopping hobos without a job, or any hope of holding one.” So now I have to comb the internets for “Wives and Lovers” and goddamn, but did anyone ever invent a better procrastination tool than the internet? Didn’t think so.
Also, I just discovered Brewer & Shipley’s version of “Witchi-Tai-To” on iTunes. And you thought they were one-hit wonders.
Have a good weekend. Back after it.
* “Gentle on My Mind” and “Rainy Night in Georgia,” if you’re interested.