I'm not a huge sports' fan. I really enjoy watching football, but I haven't committed enough to the endeavor to select a particular team to support or really learn anything to do with stats or specific penalties. I don't really care about other sports - especially baseball. I know, I know - a St. Louisian born and raised and yet up till about a week ago, I really couldn't care less about the thing. When I was little I would be taken to the games and found the only excitement in watching the temperature projected on the scoreboard drop degree by degree as the hours of monotonous diamond-patterned running continued. Since then I have not really had any over-arching desire to attend another game. But a few weeks ago, when a co-worker invited me to a game adding, "You'll need to take a half-day off of work to go," I was ready to give it all another shot.
It was glorious. The seats were wonderful - high enough up so that I could pretend that maybe I was on a amusement park ride instead of watching baseball. The view was great. The weather was perfect - sunny, but not too hot. And the beer flowed like the beer should - into my mouth, straight to my belly! So not only was I NOT at work for once, but I was OUTSIDE, enjoying the fresh air, spending some good Q.T. with a couple of friends, and the end of it all, drunk enough to fall asleep* around 9PM to wake up totally sober at 1AM.
No wonder America loves baseball. If they can work out a way to build into the whole game some tacklin', you can consider me converted!
*I mean, obviously, this means pass-out.