Sociable Sunflower #7
We arrived 40 minutes before the evening game started. Mariners – Red Sox. Safeco Field. Seattle.
Clouds hung low overhead but the sun still peeked through. At 78 degrees, the temperature may well have been perfect. The signs that this would be a night to remember should have been obvious.
I came with my cousin Tom, his girlfriend Kasey, and his best friend who shared my name, Kyle.
We walked up to the gate and bought cheap tickets. Third level. Third base side. Third row up.
We headed into the stadium. As I was a tourist, Tom insisted that I take a good look before heading to our seats. We walked around, and I absorbed the aura of Seattle baseball. The bratwursts grilling, the fans yelling, the beer flowing, the bat cracking. Marvelous.
After walking around the first level, I decided it was time to head up to our seats. “Okay, Kyle, er, cousin Kyle, do you want to walk the long way or the short way?” Tom asked.
“Long.”
“I was afraid you’d pick that. Doesn’t matter, it’s cool.”
I followed Tom and the gang to something I hadn’t seen walking in – a tall concrete staircase up to the higher levels. The spiral staircase, spread out spaciously as if it could unwind under our steps, stood before us. It was almost elegant, like it didn’t belong at a baseball stadium, a place of rowdy drunkards and family trips.
We looked upward to examine it. The staircase was deserted, most likely because people like the short way when you already have to walk quite a bit just to get to the stadium.
We walked up the staircase, taking our time. In the innards of the stadium, we could hear the restless roar of a crowd ready for a game to begin. Alone on our staircase, we didn’t talk, even Tom and Kasey, who always find something to talk about.
At the top of the staircase we came back to our senses and the other Kyle, who had consumed several beers in a matter of minutes before the game, starting yelling random obscenities. “If anyone approaches us, I’ll just tell them you have Tourette’s,” I said. The rest of the group nodded, and we walked to our seats.
The game started off well, with the Red Sox’s pitcher throwing 40-some pitches and giving up 3 runs in just the first inning. The innings passed and we drank Henry Weinhart’s and Miller Lite. We yelled the obligatory “My mom throws better fastballs than you,” and even did the wave once.
Although our team struggled to earn their hits and the Red Sox kept up with us, the excitement was high. A home run here, a single there, then another home run. At one point, Tom insisted we start dancing whenever the camera captured people for the big screen. We tried several times without any luck. But we were still winning, so everything was fine.
Finally, at the beginning of the eighth inning, everything lined up. An AC/DC song began playing and Kyle started doing what he called “the monkey,” where you swing your arms in front of you up and down on rhythm. I followed, then Tom followed, then a camera followed us and we were on Safeco’s big screen.
There we were, two Kyles and Tom, dancing as if we were 10-years-old again. Nothing could dampen our spirits, not even the smug middle-aged woman who screamed, “At least we know how to dance in Boston!”
The rest of the game we stayed high from our moment on the big screen. The beer didn’t hurt either. At the beginning of the ninth inning, the Mariners were up by one and the Red Sox were sweating. They worried so much they forgot how to hit, and our pitcher threw three strikeouts in a row. K-K-K.
After the final strikeout, we headed for our unusual staircase. Going down certainly would be different than going up. This time, we had something to talk about and celebrate.
We walked down the concrete staircase energized, alive. We walked through the crowds arrogantly happy and didn’t feel like being polite Seattlites, the kind that shake your hand and say “You played a good game. Can I get you a latte?
We made it our business to be number one fans. Every person who passed by us in Boston apparel received a loud, juvenile reminder that they had just lost.
Our favorite lines:
“Red Sox suuuuuck.” Clap—Clap—Clap-Clap-Clap
“Boston whooo?”
“The Red Sox are awesome! Good job! High five!”
We finally made it down to the bottom of the staircase, and Tom looked at me. “Not a bad time for your first night at Safeco, huh?” he said.
“Not bad at all.”
Clouds hung low overhead but the sun still peeked through. At 78 degrees, the temperature may well have been perfect. The signs that this would be a night to remember should have been obvious.
I came with my cousin Tom, his girlfriend Kasey, and his best friend who shared my name, Kyle.
We walked up to the gate and bought cheap tickets. Third level. Third base side. Third row up.
We headed into the stadium. As I was a tourist, Tom insisted that I take a good look before heading to our seats. We walked around, and I absorbed the aura of Seattle baseball. The bratwursts grilling, the fans yelling, the beer flowing, the bat cracking. Marvelous.
After walking around the first level, I decided it was time to head up to our seats. “Okay, Kyle, er, cousin Kyle, do you want to walk the long way or the short way?” Tom asked.
“Long.”
“I was afraid you’d pick that. Doesn’t matter, it’s cool.”
I followed Tom and the gang to something I hadn’t seen walking in – a tall concrete staircase up to the higher levels. The spiral staircase, spread out spaciously as if it could unwind under our steps, stood before us. It was almost elegant, like it didn’t belong at a baseball stadium, a place of rowdy drunkards and family trips.
We looked upward to examine it. The staircase was deserted, most likely because people like the short way when you already have to walk quite a bit just to get to the stadium.
We walked up the staircase, taking our time. In the innards of the stadium, we could hear the restless roar of a crowd ready for a game to begin. Alone on our staircase, we didn’t talk, even Tom and Kasey, who always find something to talk about.
At the top of the staircase we came back to our senses and the other Kyle, who had consumed several beers in a matter of minutes before the game, starting yelling random obscenities. “If anyone approaches us, I’ll just tell them you have Tourette’s,” I said. The rest of the group nodded, and we walked to our seats.
The game started off well, with the Red Sox’s pitcher throwing 40-some pitches and giving up 3 runs in just the first inning. The innings passed and we drank Henry Weinhart’s and Miller Lite. We yelled the obligatory “My mom throws better fastballs than you,” and even did the wave once.
Although our team struggled to earn their hits and the Red Sox kept up with us, the excitement was high. A home run here, a single there, then another home run. At one point, Tom insisted we start dancing whenever the camera captured people for the big screen. We tried several times without any luck. But we were still winning, so everything was fine.
Finally, at the beginning of the eighth inning, everything lined up. An AC/DC song began playing and Kyle started doing what he called “the monkey,” where you swing your arms in front of you up and down on rhythm. I followed, then Tom followed, then a camera followed us and we were on Safeco’s big screen.
There we were, two Kyles and Tom, dancing as if we were 10-years-old again. Nothing could dampen our spirits, not even the smug middle-aged woman who screamed, “At least we know how to dance in Boston!”
The rest of the game we stayed high from our moment on the big screen. The beer didn’t hurt either. At the beginning of the ninth inning, the Mariners were up by one and the Red Sox were sweating. They worried so much they forgot how to hit, and our pitcher threw three strikeouts in a row. K-K-K.
After the final strikeout, we headed for our unusual staircase. Going down certainly would be different than going up. This time, we had something to talk about and celebrate.
We walked down the concrete staircase energized, alive. We walked through the crowds arrogantly happy and didn’t feel like being polite Seattlites, the kind that shake your hand and say “You played a good game. Can I get you a latte?
We made it our business to be number one fans. Every person who passed by us in Boston apparel received a loud, juvenile reminder that they had just lost.
Our favorite lines:
“Red Sox suuuuuck.” Clap—Clap—Clap-Clap-Clap
“Boston whooo?”
“The Red Sox are awesome! Good job! High five!”
We finally made it down to the bottom of the staircase, and Tom looked at me. “Not a bad time for your first night at Safeco, huh?” he said.
“Not bad at all.”
posted by Sean Ludwig at 11:15 PM
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