Seattle Mariners 8
Tampa Bay Devil Rays 7
9-13-07 Seattle, WA - Safeco Field
Thursday PM (almost 2 hours before first pitch)
- Ticket left for Tim at Will Call. I go in early as there is no point standing around being irritated by scalpers. No money for beer.
- Free card giveaway. “First twenty thousand fans”. They’ll have leftovers tonight.
- I try and get a batting practice ball with all of the success I ever have. No mitt. No ball. Sun in my eyes for 40 minutes whilst I try. Good times.
- Free photo “with the Mariner Moose” … okay …
- I think I see an ex-brother-in-law and kind of creep the guy out by staring.
- Ohio State fans? Oh, that’s right, they are here to kick Husky ass this weekend.
- No radio. Dangit!
- Scorecard a buck. I’ll keep score tonight.
- Man, this place is prissy.
- It’s a sunny, nice, and still somewhat warm evening as we get through the first of 3 ceremonial first pitches. I deliberately do not wear my coat, trying to soak in the end of Summer for as long as I can.
- Tim and I match, which is kind of creepy, and he comments that we look like LDS missionaries. Worse yet, he’s correct.
Friday AM (about 15 hours later)
While driving to the bus Friday morning I listened to the news update on the radio briefly mention the Mariners come from behind win on Thursday night. I had to smile, because had I heard that report and had left early, I would have been very, very, very unhappy. There was a point in the game where I seriously considered leaving, but decided not to just in case something really cool happened. Something really cool did happen; the M’s came back from 7-1 down at the 7th Inning Stretch and won 8-7 in very dramatic fashion. The Sporting Gods would have smited me for my indiscretion had I left the game early. Instead, the Sporting Gods showed favor upon Jefferson and put him in position to really enjoy watching the go ahead run round third and head for home. Yes, the Tampa Bay manager was the one smited, for he is the one that walked Ichiro to get to Beltre and had to watch as Beltre pulled a horrible low and outside pitch he had no business swinging at in the first place down the left field line in fair territory whilst Jeremy Reed, of all people, scored as a pinch runner.
Thursday PM (Approximately 16 hours earlier, give or take)
She smacked her head, hard, with her right palm, then kept muttering and swearing about and at the Queen of England and bodily functions. The two guys across from me seemed like undercover security at first, sent to keep an eye on her. We had sat there at the bus stop a little too long for something not to be up; lingering after the obvious security guy on his cell phone finally stepped off the bus so we could depart; having followed her onto the bus after following her around the transit center due to her erratic behavior. The guy seated across from her, he leaned away sharply when he finally noted her behavior and the slap, making an “Oh #*($” sort of eye contact with me, but ultimately closing his eyes and listening to his headphones, likely turned up louder.
The same guy across from her, he could have turned his headphones up due to the guy that would not just shut the #*($ up about his partying with an acquaintance that wasn’t quite as loud but was still willing to participate in the conversation. Dude, I don’t care about your accidental candlelight party because your power was shut off two days earlier or about your thoughts on anti-heroes and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle characters or Pirates of the Caribbean.
I had seen the head slap lady walking around the transit center wearing a bath robe; a very, very old bathrobe over her rolled up pants with a hospital-ish type of stocking cap. She was muttering while walking and I noted the security guy eyeing her. I was kind of ticked that she originally sat across from me. She got up to get off the bus moments later, but turned and moved back when she noticed the security guy at the front of the bus. She stayed in that seat and somehow the woman next to her managed to remain asleep.
Oh. My. God. The loud guy is discussing Red Dawn. “No, they weren’t Russians, more like Cubans or something. It didn’t matter, it was just American propaganda … WOLVERINES!!!” I try to not keep listening.
She hasn’t done anything but stare at her transfer slip for a while now. I can’t tell if she is still muttering or not because that >!(#head won’t ever shut the #*($ up about television programming. I really should have brought the MP3 player today. No, I did not want to be burdened by carrying stuff around at the game tonight. The two guys who are apparently not security after all have a brief discussion about sitting in the accordion section of the bus before one of them plugs in his MP3 player and the other gets out a bestseller to read that I have considered reading myself. The transfer slip is now in her mouth, sticking out like an orange tongue. I need to stop looking.
This has already been a long commute from Bellevue to Seattle. He’s getting louder now. His friend is encouraging him. Clearing out my cell phone of old text messages is helping distract me. The tunnel noise helps. Heckler alert. Yes! The two not security guys and I start rooting him on quietly amongst ourselves. “Shut up!” the guy keeps squeaking from behind his newspaper a couple seats away. They argue a bit. One keeps talking. The other keeps heckling. I hope they have the same stop. They don’t. The two guys laugh at my comment about the same exit.
I get off the bus, nearly missing my stop due to the giggling. The guy just keeps being louder. He gets off at the same stop as me with his friends and keeps right on being loud outside. I cross the street quickly to finally get away from him. She stayed on the bus. I needed some hum bow; they’re cheap and filling. I just like saying the word.
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