Take me out to the ballgame, or maybe not...
Hello my lovelies,
At the risk of appearing as if I am trying to replace the normal coffee snark lamenting about manners, I am once again going to bitch about ridiculous behavior. For the last 12-15 years Ray and I bought five Rockies games from a friend that has season tickets. I was planning to exit this year, but then I moved 5-blocks from Coors Field and figured I should go ahead and get the tickets. There is a group of people that buy into the tickets, so every year there is a drawing to pick games. The first game I got was Monday night. Now please understand that I am most certainly not a rabid baseball fan, but I am an avid people-watcher/gawker and going to games can provide some excellent coffee fodder. Monday's game was no exception.
I invited Bill Townsend (often referred to a F*ing Townsend by those who know him well) to join me for the game. We ate amazing empanadas prior to the game (lazofoods.com at 22nd and Market) then went to the stadium. The season tickets are really great seats 29 rows up behind home plate, but sadly last night, the baseball commentator behind us made the seats far less desirable. For starters, the guy was a really loud talker, as is common with blowhards like him, he knew everything about every player, every pitch and was more capable than the actual batters (at least in his little mind). Gah! Shut the F* up!!!!!!!
His first offense is really just a pet peeve of mine; he called every player by his first name. Now I know that probably makes me sound stuffy and old-fashioned, but if you don't actually know someone then you don't really have the right to call him by his first name. Moreover, screaming his first name when he's at bat isn't going to make him change anything about his swing, his stance or the actual trajectory of the ball. It is, however, going to annoy the shit out of the snarky bitch seated in front of you and cause me to bitch about it all night and blog about it the next day.
The penultimate moment of the evening, and the thing that sealed this guy as d*bag of the day was in the top of the 8th inning when he returned from retrieving the last, ridiculously over-priced, beer he could purchase in the stadium and proceeded to spill it on the back of my head, down my back and on Townsend. With this tangled mop of curls I hate going to bed with wet hair, but I hate going to bed wreaking of beer even more, so.......
I'm writing this at the airport as I am embarking on my solo adventure to Barcelona. Expect much more of this nonsense in the coming days....
Until next time....
XOXO