8.15.2005

If you can't take the heat, get out of Camden Yards

I've always liked baseball. No, seriously. Thanks to my father and grandfather--who could very well be ranked in the top 5% of all of the baseball trivia aficionados in the world--I grew up on the stuff. Do I know the rules? Yes. Did I ever play? Yes. Do I know the strategies, the ins-and-outs? Pretty much. Do I know the names of the players? Naw. Do I watch it on television? No (but I don't watch other sports, either, in my attempts to avoid ESPN at all costs). Do I know the years and plays of famous world series games? No. However, I do appreciate the fun of America's pastime, you see. Who wouldn't be up for a three-hour excursion in a beautiful ball park, tummy content with a hot dog and overpriced draft, reveling in the camaraderie of the overweight, obnoxious-yet-friendly fans sitting next to you?

Or so I thought on Saturday afternoon, just before arriving at the Orioles game with the infamous Michael Laws. Admittedly, Camden Yards is gorgeous. With red brick facades over gleaming steel trusses, right in the heart of downtown Baltimore, I can see why my father described this one-time railroad station as one of the most stunning parks in the country. I liked the feel of the covered arcade, too, surrouding the park and bristling with happy fans and good-natured food vendors.

So just what happened to change this happy picture in my mind's eye? What so tainted my memories of baseball that I'm not sure I'll ever set foot in a part again? H-E-A-T. Or, more so, HUMIDITY. According to the meterological experts at weather.com, Saturday was Baltimore's hottest day of the summer--at 100 degrees with a dewpoint of 107. Suddenly, the sight of a wilting hot dog made me want to boot. And my overpriced draft was equally disappointing after just ten minutes of sitting under that unbearable sunshine. I should have been all smiles and giggles, leaning back to relax in those hard plastic seats; instead, I was hopelessly attached to them by the buckets of sweat dripping through my once-crisp, once-clean sundress. How the hell do the players keep from passing out?

Yeah, they did win. Beat Toronto 1-0. Whoopdie fucking doo.

1 comment:

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