On August 23, 2008 I went to a Potomac Nationals game with my buddy Drew. We were celebrating his birthday and had, let's just say, "a few" beers. On my way back from one of many trips to the bathroom I passed by the concession stand and right on the counter were those plastic horns you often see and hear at sporting events. I now know they are called "vuvuzelas" thanks to the 2010 World Cup, but I didn't know that in 2008. Anyway, my wallet gets a little loose after "a few" beers so I whipped out a Hamilton, plunked it on the counter, scored 2 vuvuzelas, and proudly strolled back to my seat with them.
What I didn't know then is that it takes a little bit of talent to get the vuvuzelas to make that excruciatingly annoying noise they are so famous for. You don't just blow air into the damn things. There is a definite technique involved. My buddy Drew knew what he was doing and had his vuvuzela humming in no time flat. Me, not so much. I would blow and nothing would happen or blow and a weak, feeble sound would limp out the vuvuzela. Drew gave me some lessons, luckily for free or perhaps for beer. I distinctly remember him saying "you have to parse your lips," not that I knew what to do with that information.
Eventually, after lots and lot of practice and a whole bunch of loud, obnoxious and sometimes odd noises I got the hang of the vuvuzela. By the end of the game I had it down and could make a long, loud vuvuzela note that would make any 10 year old proud.
Apparently our impromptu vuvuzela music lesson and concert was not well received by the surrounding baseball fans. We were of course oblivious to this fact and kept those bad boys humming right along all game long and even during the post-game fireworks display. That is until some guy came over and threatened our lives if we kept playing them. Yes, this seriously happened. This is all too stupid to make up.
Flash forward to June 19, 2010. As you may have heard "revenge is a dish best served cold." I got my payback for the "Vuvuzela Incident" at the Bowie Baysox game last night. Big time! My buddy Jerome and I took his daughter to the game to celebrate Father's Day. We had sweet seats - 2nd row, 1st base side, right behind the Baysox dugout.
Unfortunately, these seats were smack, dab in the middle of little league central. We were surrounded by a sea of little dudes in bright blue "Cubs" attire. I will admit, they looked pretty sporty in their unis. They even had uniform numbers and their names on the back just like the big leaguers. But they were 7 and 8 year olds. They were more interested in consuming mass amounts of sugar and being super annoying than watching the game.
We lasted 6.5 innings in our original seats before relocating to the far opposite side of the ballpark. It really did seem like the little cub bastards were multiplying as the innings went on. The wildcard was their coach, luckily I have already forgotten his name. He was super-crazy-obnoxious and wouldn't shut up for more than 2 or 3 consecutive seconds all night long. And he was of course, sitting right behind me. I seriously wonder if he was on speed. No one should be able to run at that gear for 3 hours straight. I am pretty obnoxious at sporting events (ask Drew about the "You can't do that chant" at the Frozen Four) but this guy made me look like a deaf mute. He was wayyyyyyyyyy over the top.
The Baysox lost the game, Orioles style. They were winning 2-0 heading into the top of the 9th inning and promptly gave up 2 runs to the Harrisburg Senators to make things way too interesting. The Baysox had the winning run on 2nd base in both the 9th and 10th innings but couldn't push it across. The Senators smacked not one, but THREE solo home runs in the 12th inning to steal the game and silence the crowd. It was a fitting end to the game and the evening.
Mood: Humble
Movie Quote of the Day:
"Have you ever been karmically bitch-slapped by a six-armed goddess?"
-Bubble Boy
Red Sox Stat of the Day:
The Sox were 23-4 in 2009 when Big Papi hit a home run.
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