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captainsblogThat was quite a night.
Today marks 54 years since I attended my first major league game. My father took me to Shea to see the Mets play the Astros. We lost, 7-0. Six years later, also in July, a now dear friend of mine from the Met blogging community took in his first game at Shea, which the Mets lost to the Astros, 7-1. I did the math and figured out that at that rate, we'd finally overcome the adversity and beat them 8-7 in 2015. Damn cheaters had been thrown out of the National League by then and we never even played them that year:P
But last night was my final time, most likely, ever seeing a major league game in downtown Buffalo. I picked up our neighbor Glenn around 6, found a perfect parking spot three blocks from the yard, and after clearing security we were right at our seats, eight rows from the field near the left field corner.
We headed in search of pregame food (me) and merch (him) through a concourse that was much busier, and Red-Soxier, than my previous visit occupied by mostly the "home" fans:
I never did find Conehead, or the elusive food stand with the poutine, so settled for a dog and a different Resurgent craft brew than his signature ale from last time.
And then the homers began.
----
God bless the Elias Sports Bureau. We knew the Red Sox were putting on a hitting show at the start of the game, but little did we know we were witnessing a Nerd Prom of baseball history: That half-inning was the first time ever that a major league team scored eight or more runs in the top of the first inning with all of them coming on home runs. Double, homer, walk, double, walk, grand slam, single, homer. Eight runs, the Toronto starter in the showers. Then Boston tacked on a ninth run on yet another homer in the top of the second before they finally scored two more without the ball leaving the premises.
By this time, I was seeking out alternate forms of amusement, and found one right in front of us. Toronto left fielder Lourdes Gurriel Jr. was out here checking his cell phone between every batter. Here he is during the the fourth Boston round tripper:
This became my main onfield entertainment for the rest of the game. After every enemy turn at bat, I'd check Lourdes and see if he was checking his phone again. I never missed.
I went in search of more food and friends.
That's Elmer, just back with his wife Sandy (who was keeping score the whole time) from seeing the Mets in that even weirder game they played in Pittsburgh the day before. He's a friend through Facebook and their daughter Abby is an even dearer poetry friend of ours, who just had her appendix out a few days earlier.
And I don't know WHO this dude is, but I know who he's homaging. Vlad Guerrero Junior is one of the stars of the "home" Toronto team, but his dad, Guerrerro Senior who wore the same number, was a proud member of the now-departed Montreal Expos. I love seeing their gear, and got to see this guy right in front of us for the whole game.
I met two local radio peeps in person as I waited for ice cream; Chris, I recognized partly from height (great) and beard (long), but mainly from his Clash t-shirt. His broadcast partner Mike, who I've listened to since Rochester days, also got to say hello. The wicked awesome numbah of Chowds in attendance were bored enough by the eighth inning to get a Wave going all around the ballpark, but my only disappointment was that they couldn't get a spontaneous chorus of "Sweer Caroline" going in the middle of the eighth.
Other than that, the night was so good, so good, so good.
----
And tonight's islooking like it might be rained out, which could result in either a final-day doubleheader here tomorrow that tonight's attendees might or might not be able to attend. is being tacked on to a later series being played back in TO next month, so tomorrow's game will be IT unless it, too, is postponed. I spent the morning today sharing cards and tonight's cake with Eleanor for the Big 65th today, mowed part of the lawn before the rains came, and had a stupid-early phone hearing. But no home runs for or against, and no calls for or from Lourdes.
Today marks 54 years since I attended my first major league game. My father took me to Shea to see the Mets play the Astros. We lost, 7-0. Six years later, also in July, a now dear friend of mine from the Met blogging community took in his first game at Shea, which the Mets lost to the Astros, 7-1. I did the math and figured out that at that rate, we'd finally overcome the adversity and beat them 8-7 in 2015. Damn cheaters had been thrown out of the National League by then and we never even played them that year:P
But last night was my final time, most likely, ever seeing a major league game in downtown Buffalo. I picked up our neighbor Glenn around 6, found a perfect parking spot three blocks from the yard, and after clearing security we were right at our seats, eight rows from the field near the left field corner.
We headed in search of pregame food (me) and merch (him) through a concourse that was much busier, and Red-Soxier, than my previous visit occupied by mostly the "home" fans:
I never did find Conehead, or the elusive food stand with the poutine, so settled for a dog and a different Resurgent craft brew than his signature ale from last time.
And then the homers began.
----
God bless the Elias Sports Bureau. We knew the Red Sox were putting on a hitting show at the start of the game, but little did we know we were witnessing a Nerd Prom of baseball history: That half-inning was the first time ever that a major league team scored eight or more runs in the top of the first inning with all of them coming on home runs. Double, homer, walk, double, walk, grand slam, single, homer. Eight runs, the Toronto starter in the showers. Then Boston tacked on a ninth run on yet another homer in the top of the second before they finally scored two more without the ball leaving the premises.
By this time, I was seeking out alternate forms of amusement, and found one right in front of us. Toronto left fielder Lourdes Gurriel Jr. was out here checking his cell phone between every batter. Here he is during the the fourth Boston round tripper:
This became my main onfield entertainment for the rest of the game. After every enemy turn at bat, I'd check Lourdes and see if he was checking his phone again. I never missed.
I went in search of more food and friends.
That's Elmer, just back with his wife Sandy (who was keeping score the whole time) from seeing the Mets in that even weirder game they played in Pittsburgh the day before. He's a friend through Facebook and their daughter Abby is an even dearer poetry friend of ours, who just had her appendix out a few days earlier.
And I don't know WHO this dude is, but I know who he's homaging. Vlad Guerrero Junior is one of the stars of the "home" Toronto team, but his dad, Guerrerro Senior who wore the same number, was a proud member of the now-departed Montreal Expos. I love seeing their gear, and got to see this guy right in front of us for the whole game.
I met two local radio peeps in person as I waited for ice cream; Chris, I recognized partly from height (great) and beard (long), but mainly from his Clash t-shirt. His broadcast partner Mike, who I've listened to since Rochester days, also got to say hello. The wicked awesome numbah of Chowds in attendance were bored enough by the eighth inning to get a Wave going all around the ballpark, but my only disappointment was that they couldn't get a spontaneous chorus of "Sweer Caroline" going in the middle of the eighth.
Other than that, the night was so good, so good, so good.
----
And tonight's is