Maybe I am of the generation that expects to be fully entertained at all moments of the day. Maybe I do have a short attention span. I may also be desensitized towards violence thanks to television. Either way…the All-Star game was a snooze-fest. I mean, seriously? The best part was the red carpet, tribute to Willie Mays and the player introductions. After the first inning it was all a blur. Of course, that could be attributed to my alcohol consumption. Yep, I was a sad, sad country song last night. I sat at home, alone, drinking my beer and watching baseball. Actually, I don’t think I was really alone since Amy and I talked on the phone for most of the game. Ah well, tonight we have a night off from baseball and then the Twins are back home tomorrow against the A’s.
Spoiled Baseball Brat
I have a feeling that when I attend the game on Friday I may be ruined for all other seats in the dome. These suite seats include all you can drink, food (including a carving station!), bric-a-bracs, leather seats, private bathrooms and many other perks. My goal (besides trying not to look like a trashy fan) is to get some autographs from past players; evidently they hang out in the area too. Tony Oliva, I am watching for you! (In a non-creepy, non-threatening way.)
Pink, that is the question
Over at Metgrrl.com, my favorite non-Twins baseball blog, there was a brief discussion on pink. You see, there are different ways to represent with pink. Pink glove; cool. Pink “Marry Me Joe Mauer” t-shirts; not cool. It is a fine line to walk. For the first year of Lucy’s life I refused (adamantly) to allow her to wear the pink cheerleading Twins outfit she got. If she was going to be a real fan she would wear real clothes. However, I have since loosened up on that policy. I figure if she grows up to love baseball as much as I do the world will be a better place, even if she wears a “Mrs. Mauer” (or even a “Mrs. Wright”, as long as it stays either Twins or a National League team) t-shirt. I am shuddering at the thought. I am totally okay if little girls (heck, even little boys) wear the pink shirts. I don’t know why I have this hatred of pink bred into me. Maybe it is because of my pasty white complexion and red hair, it makes wearing pink impossible.
Amy channeled our friend Foley (who often says inappropriate but funny things) last night when she was observing the frequent butt-pats amongst the players. Now, I know I need to grow up and not giggle at this but there was one pointed moment when Pudge gave Bonds a little pat. Amy commented that she wouldn’t mind doing that either. Ah, girls will be girls, even when they are deeply committed to baseball.