The first half of baseball season is done, and the wretched Orioles have completed it with a 40-48 record. I'm hoping for slightly better after the All Star break, at least 43 wins. Yet, that doesn't sound so good, but if you know the Orioles, you know that they traditionally fade in the second half. Wait, fade is too nice of a word. They disappear. They get losing streaks that are absolutely crazy: 12 games, 10 games. For them to win 43 games and finish with a 83-93 record would be progress. One step, one season at a time.
But that's something to look forward. The ultimate optimism of a fan of a terrible team.
Let's look back. We've gone to 8 games (7 home, 1 away), and we're 4-4. In fact, we caught the first two games of this past weekend. I haven't been to back to back games since I was a kid: 1982 and the chase for the AL East title versus the Milwaukee Brewers. Friday's was a loss. The O's got no runs.
And it was sad, but we got fireworks!
And I got to talk to the ballgirl. She tells me they have to try out for the position. Cool. I don't think I get to ask her about her health benefits. Those screaming line drives could hurt!
We had so much fun, we decide to go back for Saturday's game. We make a day of it, by stopping by the Sports Legends Museum. Cool, but I just like the baseball part. Then the Babe Ruth Museum. Strange to be in Baltimore and see NY Yankees and Boston Red Sox to be feted. I couldn't wait to get out of there quick.
Then we finally get to the park. I get the tickets in right field. Just where I really always want to sit. We watch Nick Markakis dawdle out the game. Nothing coming his way. We're bored. Before the game, the gentleman two rows back talks to his son who was excited. His son wants to catch a foul. "Not if I don't jump in his way," I blurt out. The man wasn't amused. A family sits right down behind us. During Aubrey Huffs first at bat, he taps me on the shoulder and says, "Watch out, Huff pulls lots of balls down this way." Ooo. The fourth inning arrives and there is a ball hit our way. It's coming, fading slightly to my left, three seats over across the aisle. A guy in a Pujols jersey is gonna get lucky. It hits him in the palm, pops out, he tries to snag it, bobbles it, and watches as his neighbor gets it. Too bad! "Sorry, man." Buy that guy a beer.
Seventh inning. The next foul ball.
It's hit right at me. I know. It is hit RIGHT AT ME! I stand up! Now, I'm not really good at fly balls, but this one I know: IT IS HIT RIGHT AT ME! I'm tracking it. It's all mine! I reach to catch it. *POCK!* It's hit my palm. I don't got it. I look it to see where it is. It's in some other guys hands as he picks it up off the floor. In all my years no foul ball has ever been as prettily hit towards me as that one. And I fucking drop it. My palm stings. Even more so because the ball is not in my possession. The dude in the Pujols jersey consoles me, "I know how you feel." I'm still thinking about it.
But the MelMo comes through with a walk off homerun. What a game! This one and baseball. I can't wait for the next half.
But that's something to look forward. The ultimate optimism of a fan of a terrible team.
Let's look back. We've gone to 8 games (7 home, 1 away), and we're 4-4. In fact, we caught the first two games of this past weekend. I haven't been to back to back games since I was a kid: 1982 and the chase for the AL East title versus the Milwaukee Brewers. Friday's was a loss. The O's got no runs.
And it was sad, but we got fireworks!
And I got to talk to the ballgirl. She tells me they have to try out for the position. Cool. I don't think I get to ask her about her health benefits. Those screaming line drives could hurt!
We had so much fun, we decide to go back for Saturday's game. We make a day of it, by stopping by the Sports Legends Museum. Cool, but I just like the baseball part. Then the Babe Ruth Museum. Strange to be in Baltimore and see NY Yankees and Boston Red Sox to be feted. I couldn't wait to get out of there quick.
Then we finally get to the park. I get the tickets in right field. Just where I really always want to sit. We watch Nick Markakis dawdle out the game. Nothing coming his way. We're bored. Before the game, the gentleman two rows back talks to his son who was excited. His son wants to catch a foul. "Not if I don't jump in his way," I blurt out. The man wasn't amused. A family sits right down behind us. During Aubrey Huffs first at bat, he taps me on the shoulder and says, "Watch out, Huff pulls lots of balls down this way." Ooo. The fourth inning arrives and there is a ball hit our way. It's coming, fading slightly to my left, three seats over across the aisle. A guy in a Pujols jersey is gonna get lucky. It hits him in the palm, pops out, he tries to snag it, bobbles it, and watches as his neighbor gets it. Too bad! "Sorry, man." Buy that guy a beer.
Seventh inning. The next foul ball.
It's hit right at me. I know. It is hit RIGHT AT ME! I stand up! Now, I'm not really good at fly balls, but this one I know: IT IS HIT RIGHT AT ME! I'm tracking it. It's all mine! I reach to catch it. *POCK!* It's hit my palm. I don't got it. I look it to see where it is. It's in some other guys hands as he picks it up off the floor. In all my years no foul ball has ever been as prettily hit towards me as that one. And I fucking drop it. My palm stings. Even more so because the ball is not in my possession. The dude in the Pujols jersey consoles me, "I know how you feel." I'm still thinking about it.
But the MelMo comes through with a walk off homerun. What a game! This one and baseball. I can't wait for the next half.
Labels: Baltimore Orioles, baseball, I'm a fool
@margeemateo said: