World Series, October 2005

On Tuesday afternoon my husband called and told me to get a sitter for Wednesday night. "We’re going to the World Series!"
First of all, I am under constant critisism for going over the monthly budget. I’m thinking, you don’t even care about baseball and now I’m mad because … we have no extra money! We have a goal of babysitting 2 times a month, which was already blown by book fairs, school open houses and admissions meetings. I thought, "What is your mother going to think?” He said, it’s the chance of a lifetime and I found cheap tickets… relatively speaking.

Flash forward to game night:
The World Series, Houston, Texas, 2005
Houston Astros vs. Chicago White Sox, Game 4

We arrived early to secure a parking spot. The Astros were down 3 games to none and the day before the parking was a minimum of $20.00 per car. Tonight 5 bucks could get you a short block away. My spouse was feeling quite satisfied with himself. He had transformed into some one else. First of all, he always thought baseball was boring. Secondly, he’s a fashionable guy, above commercial or sport team endorsements ever invading his wardrobe. This night he is donning an Astros cap and a red “Astros Authentic Reproduction Home Jersey”. As we approach the venue, he realizes he has left the binoculars, video camera and still camera back in the car. His heart is broken and he attempts to blame me. I stand strong, though. I didn’t know he had brought all of those things. Anyway, in my own false sense of being cooler than everyone else, I would have made him choose one item only. Neither of us was willing to dash back to the car on a retrieval mission. So, I consoled him and he was quickly swept up by the multiple media types and masses of people standing in line to buy t-shirts or waiting to get into the surrounding adult beverage kiosks. For a moment I thought he was considering joining in the line for the $12.00 plastic World Series mug. You could get a free draw- string parachute fabric backpack from Ameriquest if you refinanced your mortgage right then and there. If you signed up for a credit card you would be given a World Series Throw. I considered this momentarily as I thought it would look great on my Roche Bobois sofa.

Next began the “What do you want to do?” part of the evening. “Do you want to go in? Do you want to eat inside? Do you want to walk around first?” To which I helpfully replied, “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” After 22 years we still do this. We decided to go in. Security was checking the men with a metal detector and sending women on through. Apparently we’re less dangerous. Inside it’s shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to fronts. Reporters are everywhere interviewing loud individuals who are wearing big wigs and giant lips and shirtless large men wearing hoops on their nipples. When we finally clear the first clot of people we decide to get our dinner out of the way. Foot long dogs it would be. The chili cheese ones looked enticing, but knowing we would be at the top of the upper deck, quite possibly in the middle of the row, we thought better of it. Mustard would do me just fine. We stood at the ketchup/mustard kiosk and ate while directing people to the napkins and onions. David had put Parmesan cheese (meant for the mini pizzas) on his dog. It stuck all around the edges his mouth. No one noticed, but eventually I couldn’t stand it anymore and wiped his entire face. I, because I’m so dainty, had used a plastic spoon to cut my dog in half. There were only spoons. No forks or knives. I’m not sure what the spoons were for but they can actually cut a hot dog when in a pinch.

Eventually we found our seats. We entered our section and scaled the stairs, laughing and puffing as we arrived at the top. On the way up I kept reminding myself not to look down. That’s what they always say in the movies. We sat in our seats and took in the view. Wow. We were directly behind first base. The view was perfectly symmetric. The field was bright green and patterned by the mowers. It swept and spread out grandly. Beyond the far wall was part of downtown Houston and the sun was setting in the distance. The altitude was a bit breath taking at first. As it turned out we were nearly on the aisle, which made the gatekeeper in me very happy. I hate the middle. The crowd filled in and we sang the national anthem. A child on the field shouted “Play ball!” and the crowd roared. The players took the field and began tossing the ball around.
A great mix of big, strong, scrubbed and shaved, hardworking, proud and happy American Texans, surrounded us. The only little guy was two rows below. It was obvious he had waited his whole life to see a World Series game. He was regular looking and you could tell he works hard for his money. He probably had made one of the largest purchases in his life in buying his ticket. Through the anthem and assorted ceremonies he stood, arms spread out and above his head. From our position, his head covered 2nd base, his torso covered the pitching mound and the inner grassy area of the diamond. Right hand over 1st and left hand over 3rd. His lower half covered home and the ump. He was euphoric. He swayed and did his own private Tai Chi style dance as he gently cooed to himself. He was at the World Series and life couldn’t be better. Now everyone was ready for the game. All sat in their seats in anticipation…except Little Red Haired Man down below. I asked the burley guys in front of me to ask him to sit. One of them quietly inquired to his backside, “Are you going to stand the whole game?” Not what I would have said but it didn’t matter because Red heard nothing. Those of us behind him missed the first batter-up. Something then made Red sit down and begin rubbing his brow. Needless to say, I watched Red almost equally along with the ballgame. He began to sway in his seat. He oozed down in it. He was no longer blocking anyone’s view. By the time the second batter was up, he told his buddy it was time to leave. Buddy refused. When the crowd stood, Buddy made Red Stand. When Red looked on the verge of tears (and did most of the time), Buddy heartily patted him on the back and barked, “Go Astros, Woo-hoo!” So Red suffered and suffered until he just couldn’t take it any more. Midway through the 5th inning he left with Buddy, who was in disbelief that he was leaving The World Series well before it’s end.
After Red and Buddy left, we were available to tune into to the nice man behind us who’s two catch phrases were, ”Hit him in the head!” and “F__ker!”

My once in a lifetime World Series experience was great fun. The game was a good one, even if only one run was scored…and we lost…and we lost the series. Everyone is proud of the hometown team. The organ music was essential as was singing “Take Me Out to the Ball-game” I was fascinated with the beer guy climbing up all the stairs over and over. It’s funny how you develop a deep friendship with the strangers around you. You never exchange names and you’ll never see them again. Yet your relationship is deep and united. You love them like family and the goodbyes are heartfelt when the game is over.
The best part of it was watching Husband David, happy in the moment. No worries, just pure satisfaction with the night, with his wife and most of all, with himself. It was all good. All good.