Baseball Pt. 1
The Atlanta Braves at the The Texas Rangers, Friday night baseball.
Friend of a friend, lovely tickets to a Rangers home game.
I liked the Braves: they shut out Houston, in Houston, 6th game of last year’s World Series. Beat Houston in Houston. Fun game to watch. Frankly, Houston had a better team, on paper.
Friday night? Primo seats. Need more friends willing to front home plate ball tickets.
“The things we do for our dates.”
It was exciting. Not nearly as cool as a world series, but quite an experience. I only have Fenway Park to compare the experiences, and from a facilities, amenities, and comfort? Ranger Stadium is way superior.
Fans? I really admire the emotional resilience of the Red Sox fans. Must be like that for Ranger fans, too. Stayed until the end of the ninth inning, Atlanta 6, Rangers 3. Almost four hours long, seemed like.
Really a nice stadium experience. Ease of vehicular ingress and egress, well-lit, no sketchy corners, nothing funny lurking in the water for the hot dogs.
Literal fireworks when the Rangers scored a home run, twice in that game. A little loud for my tastes.
Heading homeward on the old turnpike? My British accent Siri gave clear, concise directions, and for a few moments, I was on the old Dallas Ft. Worth turnpike — what it was called. Brought back latent memories.
Baseball Pt. 1
That’s three ball games I’ve been to. Leftover memories of the turnpike? Some time in my distant past, I recall, I think we were drinking beer in the mid-cities area, and then climbing on the back of thoroughbred European liter bikes, and screaming into the night, headed east along the old turnpike — there was dark stretch from Six Flags to the post office exit, and cresting a hill, easily over a hundred miles an hour, three or four of us, wheeling into spring night, racing time and age with the boundless intemperance of youth.
Think I’d rather just see a ball game in that stadium. “Go Rangers!”
Especially if it’s in the splash zone.