Tuesday, August 7, 2007

America's favorite past time

Tim thinks I hate baseball. I don't. On the contrary...I actually give partial credit to baseball for the fact that Tim and I were virgins when we got married. Seriously, Tim would come to my house for a date and end up watching the Atlanta Braves play on TV with my grandparents. I would fall asleep and he would wake me up a few hours later. Abstinence was a lesser struggle during baseball season. =)

But despite the games contribution to our moral fiber, I honestly can't think of a time that I would, in my right mind, look at Tim and say, "hey, let's go to a baseball game." Nonetheless, at the prompting of my husband and excitement of my children we loaded the crew up and headed out for a Durham Bulls game on Sunday night. We chose the cheapest tickets available..."the lawn" was our designated seating area. I should warn you in case you decide to take a similar outing some day; the lawn isn't what you think. In the name of true advertising, I would like to petition the Durham Athletic Association to more accurately name this area "the grassy lump". It's a hill. One small and quite steep hill at the back of the stadium just behind center field. Steep enough that we had to form human barriers to keep Bella from rolling head over heels. If she ever got going there would be no stopping her until she hit the concrete wall at the bottom.

To make matters worse, we were sitting right in front of the digital time/temperature screen and we were facing the sun -97 degrees when we arrived. Add to the heat my utter stupidity. It wasn't until the third inning that I realized I was the only one whistling and clapping when the team in blue made a good play. This may have been because the Durham Bulls were wearing WHITE uniforms. I didn't feel quite so stupid when the blue team won the game but I kept my enthusiasm in check lest we add "mauled by crowd" to my reasons for not enjoying baseball.

Are you with me so far? grassy lump, potential death for my youngest child, 97 in the sun, did I mention no sunglasses, and I can't figure out which team to cheer for...what's not to love about this? Well, perhaps it was the moment when I reached to get something from the diaper bag and felt an instant shot of pain through the back of my arm. It was a horribly familiar pain- honeybee. I haven't been stung in years! After a string of frantic euphemisms, Tim removed the stinger from by arm. I'm allergic to honeybees. Swelling, rash, hives, the whole nine yards. I regained my composure and took slow, steady breaths. It had been so long since my last sting (maybe 8 years old) I had no idea how mild or severe the reaction might be. We decided to wait it out and I figured if need be I could get immediate medical attention by simply rolling down the hill and onto center field. Could anything salvage this night for me?

Yep. The clouds rolled in and temperature dropped to a breezy 84 degrees, the itching and swelling only covered most of my left arm, my husband got to eat "the best hot dog ever" (it just tasted like a hot dog to me. I think his taste buds were affected by how much he paid for it), I got to see Nathan's big ol' smiling head on the jumbo tron during the seventh inning stretch, and using my trauma as leverage, I downed almost an entire bag of cotton candy all by myself. I still don't LOVE baseball but I do love my crew and if they decide to love baseball well, bring on the Benedryl.

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