Last night at the Nationals game was probably one of my more uncomfortable moments in Washington. Sitting out in the open in ninety degree heat with seventy percent humidity is not my idea of a good time, but I’m such a baseball nut that I knew I could do it. I got to the stadium early, set up my scoresheet and waited for the game to kick off. The guy in front of me proceeded to taunt the Red Sox fans that went by, which wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if he didn’t proceed to tell a group of young teenagers that they should all die horrible deaths. I swear, Yankees fans really have no business ever coming to baseball games. It just serves to remind the world that trolls really do exist in real life.
The game was a good one, but I think the official scorer for the Nats needs to re-examine his hit/error calls from last night because I can think of at least three people that deserved errors last night, but instead got mercy calls. A first inning blooper ends up a double when a couple of fielders converge and the ball is lost. A late inning ball hit over the charging Preston Wilson’s head (dude! Back the fuck up when the ball is hit your way, you can always readjust!) turns into a stand up triple.
We didn’t stay into the seventh last because it was just so foul. My shirt sticking to my back and sweat running down my calves (damn you corporate dress code! Damn you to HELL!) and no air movement at all in the upper deck allowed us to hear the end of the game from the air conditioned car on the way back across the 14th St. Bridge. This swampy existence of ours is not worth living sometimes, and it definitely makes me wonder “Why the hell didn’t we put our capital someplace with better weather?!”
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs