Speaking of baseball, I saw my first game on the weekend of 4th July. What better to celebrate Independance Day than with hotdogs, beer and America’s favo(u)rite pasttime.
I wish I could start off by saying that everything you see on TV and the movies is entirely untrue, but I can’t. It is exactly what I expected.
Let me start at the beginning, though.
4th of July is, of course, a pretty big deal here – and this year a long weekend. So I suprised my wife with a weekend away in Tampa. Beautiful place, lot’s of beaches, little old towns dotted around and … trailer parks.
I suppose if you are going to live in a mobile home and pay nominal taxes, why not live in perpetual summer.
The weekend really was great, we went out the first night to a few clubs/bars in an part of Tampa called Ybor City. It’s much like you’d expect from New Orleans, with double story buildings with balconies lining the streets and the sound of festivities (drunk college girls) echoing from every open door.
The next day was beach day, and the big holiday. So we waited in traffic for two hours to spend another two hours on the most packed beach I have ever been on.
Done, and out of the way.
The final day, as we drove out of Tampa and towards our last stop – a quaint little town called Tarpon Springs, the most Greek populated city in the US – we saw a dome shaped stadium. The radio was on a shitty talk station and they were advertising the game that night – Tampa Bay Ray’s vs. Kansas City Royals.
So we decided to call and book two tickets. Who ever doubted my spontanaeity.
The game started at 7:10pm so we arrived at 5pm.
Parking was a cinch, mainly because events like this are well organised. The police are out, parking attendants aren’t trying to get money out of you and there are no taxis.
I always get excited at sports stadiums, no matter the sport. I love the size, the atmosphere, all of it.
And what a warm reception at this one.
It’s an indoor arena, totally covered with an unvelievably high roof. In the lobby there are restaurants, beer stands, souveneirs – and of course rows and rows of urinals – heaven. And like I said, it’s exactly what you’d expect. Fans running around in supporting jerseys, kids and adults alike with their gloves hoping to catch a long hit ball and the ever present mullet-guy hanging out at the bar.
So we found our seats, got some beer, ate some hotdogs and repeated the process a few times before the first pitch.
The national anthem was sung by some ex-army-cum-navy captain or something. He was pretty good, and I’m starting to love the patriotism here (did I just say that?).
And then the first pitch. Now comes the action. No it doesn’t!
It’s just like cricket, boring as hell – and somehow the uniforms are designed to make their wearers just a little more homosexual – it really is possible.
And like cricket, it’s not about the game, at all. The atmosphere and singing and occasional great play (which can be watched on the huge screen a few times after it actually took place) make up for it all.
Being the paranoid South African, we left a little early and got onto the road before traffic.
I still can’t believe they wear gloves to catch the ball.