Not the Front Row, but I'll Take It

Saturday night I went to see another Orioles game (2^nd one this week) with Sitcom Kelly and her Sitcom Sister and Brother-in-Law.  Going to the games is getting to be pretty commonplace, I agree, but this time, against the Seattle Mariners, we got to use Sitcom Kelly’s Mom’s company seats, 10 rows behind home plate.

A reasonable person might not have gone, just because of the weather.  It rained all afternoon on Saturday, but after examining the weather maps and calculating all possible scenarios, I decided to go and use my sure-fire rain prevention method.  I brought an umbrella.  I used it to get from my car to the subway station, and then I barely felt a drop for the rest of the night.  Works every time.

This was most UNLIKE the time in 2010 when she and I saw the Mariners from Sitcom Mom’s seats, when it drizzled all night.  I wrote about it here.

There was nothing fun about wearing the full body condom all night long.

On the way down to the ballpark, I had to pass the convention center where the Brony convention is going on.  Between coming to and leaving from the park, I probably passed about a dozen Bronies.  I was hoping for something a little more colorful, but all practically the same: 18-22 year old, pale, skinny guys with dark hair and black t-shirts.  They looked like they got lost on the way to a Twilight convention.  Did Edward Cullen make a guest appearance on “My Little Pony?”  (Only one guy broke the mold… he had sandy hair and was much chunkier.)

If I had Misty’s secret ninja camera skills, I would have gotten some pictures.  But my camera is an actual camera and not a cell phone, and I’d have hated to make them look any mopier than they already did.

I met up with everyone at The Bullpen, where SK and I are “VIPs.”  Luckily, they got there before I did and were able to grab a table for four, so we didn't have to stand around and drink. 

At one point, Sitcom Sister and her husband got up to go grab a bite from the street vendors, when we noticed something wrong with the table.  At the same time, both SK and I stopped leaning forward on the table and the damn thing nearly toppled over.  It was almost like a whole leg was missing.  I took a look and there was about a 3-inch gap between the end of the leg and the floor.  That put the table at such a severe angle, it looked like a piece of furniture from Tim Burton’s house.

Luckily, I’m a rather inventive problem solver, and came up with this fix:

Miller Lite and Natty Boh, working together to keep people from spilling their beer.

I made the mistake of pre-crushing the Lite can a little too much, so I had to add a 16-oz Natty Boh to make up the difference.  Eventually, the bar staff noticed our fix, and then promptly found a screw-in footer for the table leg, which had been kicked out.  They admired our solution and said they’d fix the table later.  No wonder they gave us those VIP cards!

One of the best parts of getting Sitcom Mom’s seats is that they’re padded!  All the lower bowl seats between 3^rd base and 1^st are nicely padded.  It’s ironic, because I’d think that anyone with enough disposable income that they can afford these season tickets probably have enough padding on their ass.  Then again, they can probably afford personal trainers as well.  Regardless, I enjoyed the comfort.

In case this seems disorienting, this is the row in front of me, with the seat bottoms up.

This was our basic view:

Darkening clouds creep in over the Eyesore Hilton.

One little fella was having a grand time sitting up so close.  In fact, I think he thought he was backing up the catcher.

He would crouch down like that before every pitch.

It’s definitely cool to sit up that close.  You can see the ball break and hear it hiss through the air until it pops the catcher’s mitt.  The only downside is the netting.  It completely kills what would be some very grand action shots.

Nick Markakis looks one in.

Another cool thing about this area is that team scouts sit there.  At least I think they’re team scouts… they keep score, take notes, use hand-timers, and none of them wear team gear.  I don’t think there are many people who do all that for shits and giggles.

I saw at least four.  The scout whose head you can’t see is holding a hand-timer.  Plus, you can see the guy who operates the scoreboard readout that tells you what kind of pitch it was.  He punches it into the little machine sitting on the wall.

The game was pretty entertaining, in that there were 6 home runs hit.  Unfortunately, the Mariners hit 4 of them, against the Orioles’ 2.  Still, the O’s kept clawing back, with an especially nice rally after their manager Buck Showalter got tossed from the game for arguing balls and strikes from the dugout.  We had a great spot to watch the fireworks.  Unfortunately, we weren't close enough to hear what was being said.

This exchange got a louder ovation than the O’s home runs did.

The Orioles were down by two in the eighth, when Seattle hit their last home run, to go up by four.  That was the signal for most to leave the park for the night.

Even the Oriole Bird was ready to jump.  Don’t let the big smile fool you.

We stuck it out, but our presence didn't do any good, and the Birds went down in flames, 8-4.  I blame my orange Chris Davis jersey, which I hadn't worn before.  I’ll give it another shot in 2 weeks, before I hang it up for the season.