We finally get to the ballpark, I meet my friend at the gate and Mr. Baseball, going in through the same gate, gives me his section number. What a pain, lots of effort, actually want to watch the game--not plot: Strike one.
Lucky for Mr. Baseball, we were remarkably only one section over. He sees me walk up the steps and waves during the fifth inning. I pay and send the beer guy over but don’t say hello so that I will end up with home team’s advantage at the end of the game and also can get back to trying to teach my friend a few players names so she is prepared for her second trip to the stadium that weekend on a date.
He brings me one in the eighth and tells me that we should go (somewhere L.U.D. which translates to Locationally Un-Desirable) after the game. Strike two, questionable call for the umpire. As always, I explain that I can’t but maybe another time. To this, Mr. Baseball is not happy.
Strike three.
