Friday, June 09, 2006


Batter up, no shells down

In no way does this post mean to top the one that came before. Seriously. This is kind of a goofy little bit of fluff after the trip to Israel, but I figured since I was here . . .

So the other night, to celebrate my getting back in this hemisphere, not to mention our third wedding anniversary, Our Woman in LA went to Chavez Ravine to take in the hometown Dodgers doing courageous battle against the Mets of New York. Decent game, a lot of fun. The Dodgers went down 9-7 in what would not be described as a war of great pitching.

Nonetheless, it was game time, we were hungry. Only we're running another half marathon coming up in September, so the idea of filling up on Dodger Dogs and Red Vines didn't seem like the right call.

So we got a bag of peanuts. You know, like in the baseball songs of yore.

Which is when I realized that my bride and I had never shared peanuts at the ballpark before. How did I come to this conclusion. Hmmm. Maybe it was when Our Woman in LA ate her first nut, then looked eagerly to my half-full cup of beer.

This conversation followed --

Our Woman: Are you going to drink the rest of it?
Our Man: Yeah. Do you want some.
Our Woman: No. But you should drink it.

She started looking around nervously, like she needed a LOST hit.

Our Man: What's the matter?
Our Woman: Nothing. Just drink up.
Our Man: I'll drink it. What's going on?
Our Woman: Nothing. It's fine.

A beat. Then a second beat.

Our Woman: Are you going to drink it or what?
Our Man: What is going on?
Our Woman: I need to get rid of my peanut shell!

Silence in the ballpark. They even stopped playing the game for a second. Hushed tones and whispers all around.

Our Man: Just throw it on the ground.
Our Woman: Throw it on the ground!?! But that's illegal!
Our Man: It's not illegal. They have people to clean the stadium.
Our Woman: Well, but it's not fair of me to make their job harder. If I litter, everyone else will too!

At this point, I pointed to everyone at the stadium who was littering. Attendance at the Dodger game was over 44,000, so it took a while.

Miraculously, she discounted at least 40 percent of the litterers as bad people. "That guy with the tattoos is an a-hole," she said. "Of course he litters."

"Those kids just don't know better. They haven't been brought up right."

"What are YOU doing, dropping shells on the ground?"

I tried the gentle explanation. "It's part of the game's history," I said. "Like hot dogs and cracker jacks and the seventh inning stretch. It's part of the fun."

"FUN?" she cried. "LITTERING is FUN?"

Sigh. Defeated, I took the only option I had remaining.

Drank my beer. Gave her the cup.

I'm sure the Dodger Stadium Janitorial Staff appreciates the fine work done at Aisle 53FD, Row U, seats 1 and 2. I'll let you know when we get their thank you note.

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