previous | index | next

June 5, 1999

Take me out to the ball game

I'm not a big sports fan. Heck, it took me a long time to figure out some of the basic rules of football despite being a member of the marching and football band since I was in 8th grade. It took until my senior year in high school to not need the drum major's prompting. In college, I never even went to a single football game, despite UIUC being being one of the Big Ten schools (then again, UIUC doesn't have a strong reputation as a sports power in our league... but I could have seen games against Michigan or Northwestern or Purdue if I wanted to). I was convinced when I was in college to accompany Josh to a Reds baseball game in Chicago. I would only go on the condition that he would explain the game to me. That game wasn't "exciting" but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Josh was very open to all my questions, talking about the strengths and weaknesses of each player, explaining the strategy of the game. I twas complex, but in an interesting, nonoverwhelming way. I'm not too eager to take this trip into the world of baseball on my own, but with an enthusiastic guide, I'm willing. One of the best things about that Reds game (I don't know whtat team they were playing... anyone know?eds playing a team based in Chicago) was getting a malt towards the end of the game. I hadn't had a malt since I was in elementary school and there was a great deal of nostalgia for me. I looked down at the cold container. It seemed much smaller than I remember from my elementary school days, although they probably are the same size as before. It's my hands that gof big. The wooden spoon (oh I always found these spoons outrageously awkward, for although it has the silhouette of a spoon, it lacks a spoon's depression. Oh the pain of the many shirts and dresses I have stained from having a drop of malt chocolate slide off the malt's flat wooden spoon) was tacked on the top. I pried it off gingerly. I examined the malt, eyeing the tiny tab that I need to pull to open it. I judged the most effective approach and pulled off the top. Inside, slightly frosty, glistening in the sun was the two halves of the malt. Unnaturally white vanilla and not dark-enough chocolate. Like a master malt eater, I began attacking the malt with fury. I left no prisoners. Sucking melted ice cream out of the spoon long after the contained was empty... I became a child again. --- Why am I talking about baseball and malts? Because I went to a baseball game today! Not just any baseball game. It was a special "subway series" with interleague play. The Mets vs. The Yankees game. I can't even begin to list the number of people that told me that I was very lucky to get tickets since it was sold out. We sat in the bleechers, which are way out in the outfield. Which means, no cover. It was very sunny. Which means, direct sunlight. Now, I have an all-over body tan thanks to my Filipino background. I've never gotten a sunburn. When I was younger, I would be out in the sun for hours on the beach with no sunscreen and my skin never even got warm. I just got darker in a nice, relatively even way. In high school, I started covering up more and I started getting adorible "sock tans". But still, no burning. When I got in college, I was a botanist and spent a lot of time out in the field collecting and identifying. I remember one summer three years ago spending the entire summer in a desert prairie, the hot sun on my back and no suntan lotion. That was the last time I had been outside in direct sunlight continuously for three hours. I had forgotten this fact until today. And I paid for it. My attitude was, "I never needed suntan lotion before... why should I need it now?" Because the only long term direct light I've been getting has been the glow of my computer monitor. For the past three years. I experienced my first sunburn. And like the ghoul I am, I think it is very cool. I thoroughly enjoyed the game, despite my sportsaphobia. I especially enjoyed Christine's company. She's very cool. Very very cool. The Yankees won, by the way. Which meant I owed Christine five bucks since I bet her that the Mets would win. I was playing devil's advocate. I didn't expect to win, especially since the Yankees won yesterday's subway series game.

© Copyright 1999, Eileene Coscolluela
[woolgathering]