Double Flee A

Friday night I didn't go bowling like I planned. Chet flaked out, and by this I was unsurprised. I was surprised that the lovely Joyce's friend Jackie scored some sweet seats at the Twins game. We went to the middle and started walking down till we wound up five rows behind the plate. At that range, if you say something to a player, he's going to hear you. You can tell who they are by what they look like; they're not little specks waaay down there like in an airplane. The lovely Joyce could tell who Mauer was, and she enjoyed that. The guy up and to my left knew them all, or really knew the hell out of baseball or both, because he was speaking in what sounded like a different language. It doesn't help the story that I can't remember anything he said, but oh well. The food in that section was awesome. They've got frozen yogurt, barbecue, GOOD BEER, all kinds of stuff. You can watch the ball actually curve from there. The best seat in the entire stadium, though, is occupied by the guy with the radar gun, testing pitch speed. The radar gun's not mounted or anything, he's just holding it, wobbling it around, and he gets to sit there and probably gets paid three times what I do. Man. The Twinkies lost 11 - 6. On the way out I saw all the sports columnists at their big stadium-table-desks and I waved to one for some reason. Just as my hand shot up I remembered hearing him on a radio show complaining about how people he doesn't even know wave at him and how much he hates it because they're all idiots for not considering that they're strangers to him. I retracted my hand from the air and left the metrodome, happy I don't have to stand in the fringes and smoke any more.

The morals of the story... there are some really good seats in this world you know nothing about...smoking is a pain in the butt...don't wave at strangers.

posted by dale @ 5:42 PM