Sept 12, 2007
En route to Monday's Mariners game I stopped off to shop in the always cool Elliott Bay Book Co. to pick up something to read at the ballpark when things were slow. An hour of browsing turned up a used copy of Philip K. Dick's "The Man In The High Castle", a longtime resident on my must-read list. I got to the ballpark 2 hours early and bought a plate of Ivar's fish and chowdah for the bargain price of $14.50.
I get to my seat and realized to my horror that I was settling down with my plate of sloppy food in the midst of batting practice, right in the prime home run drop zone, 2 rows from the outfield wall in right field. The 5 o'clock sun is glaring right in my eyes so I can't even see the batters, and I'm surrounded by dozens of souvenier-seeking maniacs and their mitts, waiting to dive for balls. So I chow down at indigestion-inducing speed to avoid having a screaming fly ball drop out of the sun right onto my lap or head. Once finished, I begin reading P.K.D., warily listening to the crowd around me for cues of incoming balls, when sure enough, they start squealing with excitement as a fly ball comes rocketing right towards me. I look up, yelp and scurry out of the way, since I have no intention of catching it with my gimpy, bare right hand, and I don't want to get crushed in the scrum of bozos scrambling my way. The ball bounces off a seat to the right of me and I instinctively drop the book and said ball plops right in my hands, much to the chagrin of the beacher bums who'd been waiting hours for a souvenir.
That would prove to be the highlight of the game, since Oakland proceeded to tear the reeling M's a new cornshute. Compounding the misery was a group of A's fans in my section, chest-thumping and hollering with every Oakland hit or run scored. So I bailed in the 5th inning, thankfully missing the continuing slaughter, happy with my souvenier and belly full of greasy fish.
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