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Aug. 25th, 2005 10:10 pmActual exchange I overheard at the Sea Dogs game today:
Woman behind me, seeing a kid walk past in a Jeter jersey: "Oh, Jeter went to the Yankees?"
*long pause*
Her companion: ". . . he's always been a Yankee."
Does. Not. Compute. I pray this was an in-joke of some kind. Except that no one laughed. Oh, dear.
The game itself was just tragic. Maaaaan. The Sea Dogs got two-hit by the Trenton Thunder. Meanwhile, the Sea Dogs pitching . . . well, as![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
farnsworthalot would put it, you could have shoved the plate up their asses and they woulda been walking around going, "Where's the plate? I can't find the plate?" even as it was sticking out their goddamn buttholes is how shit their control was. I wish I'd been counting the walks, then I could tell you the actual number, instead of the number I am making up, which is eighty-seven million. Our pitchers combined to give up eighty-seven million walks. It was horrible. At one point a relief pitcher came in, walked about three guys, and finally threw a strike, and the crowd just exploded with sarcastic cheers.
Betsey and I had general admissions tickets, but, thanks to confusing color coding, got accidental free upgrades. We sat in seats that were reserve seats, but for some reason the people who owned the seats gave them to us. Sweet. So we got great seats, and I yelled encouragement at our guys (Mostly of the "YEAH *insert name here*!" variety), and as the game got sillier and sillier, I just yelled at them (A Thunder gets on because no one was covering, like, the entire right side of the diamond: "Could you at least refrain from napping?!").
The Red Sox Update marquee did not help. "What? . . . Betsey! Betsey, look at the number next to Kansas City. Tell me it is not a three, please." "Yeah, that's a three." "Awesome. Thanks, Schill."
But then there were loud glorious fireworks that included awesome little swirly spiral discus things, so that was nice.
Overall, I had a good time, but OUCH. Ladies and gentlemen, meet your division leaders, the Sea Dogs. No, seriously. They are. Now stop that laughing.
Oh, yeah, the final score: 15-0.
Woman behind me, seeing a kid walk past in a Jeter jersey: "Oh, Jeter went to the Yankees?"
*long pause*
Her companion: ". . . he's always been a Yankee."
Does. Not. Compute. I pray this was an in-joke of some kind. Except that no one laughed. Oh, dear.
The game itself was just tragic. Maaaaan. The Sea Dogs got two-hit by the Trenton Thunder. Meanwhile, the Sea Dogs pitching . . . well, as
farnsworthalot would put it, you could have shoved the plate up their asses and they woulda been walking around going, "Where's the plate? I can't find the plate?" even as it was sticking out their goddamn buttholes is how shit their control was. I wish I'd been counting the walks, then I could tell you the actual number, instead of the number I am making up, which is eighty-seven million. Our pitchers combined to give up eighty-seven million walks. It was horrible. At one point a relief pitcher came in, walked about three guys, and finally threw a strike, and the crowd just exploded with sarcastic cheers.Betsey and I had general admissions tickets, but, thanks to confusing color coding, got accidental free upgrades. We sat in seats that were reserve seats, but for some reason the people who owned the seats gave them to us. Sweet. So we got great seats, and I yelled encouragement at our guys (Mostly of the "YEAH *insert name here*!" variety), and as the game got sillier and sillier, I just yelled at them (A Thunder gets on because no one was covering, like, the entire right side of the diamond: "Could you at least refrain from napping?!").
The Red Sox Update marquee did not help. "What? . . . Betsey! Betsey, look at the number next to Kansas City. Tell me it is not a three, please." "Yeah, that's a three." "Awesome. Thanks, Schill."
But then there were loud glorious fireworks that included awesome little swirly spiral discus things, so that was nice.
Overall, I had a good time, but OUCH. Ladies and gentlemen, meet your division leaders, the Sea Dogs. No, seriously. They are. Now stop that laughing.
Oh, yeah, the final score: 15-0.
