In some families, a day at the ballpark would be scrupulously planned.
Especially if the tickets were $50 a pop spiffy skybox seats.
Especially if the Twins were only a half game out of 1st place.
ESPECIALLY if it was the pitching return of prodigal son Francisco Liriano.
In some families, everyone would have risen early and only used baseball metaphors and wittisims throughout the day in their fervor and excitement. Children and parents would be cleaned and dressed. The vehicle would be packed with essential items. Promptly. Tickets would be checked and counted.
TICKETS WOULD BE CHECKED.
I wish I could explain why I thought the game started at 2:55. I don’t know where I got that time. I don’t know why it was lodged so thoroughly and completely in my mind that I felt no need to check the tickets. I actually kind of wish I knew what DID start at 2:55 because I must have thought it was pretty important. More important than… say…. going to a really great game… with my kids and husband… that I paid $150 to see. So, it’s probably the exact moment that an asteroid was supposed to smash into the earth.
Around 2pm I decide I’d better get the troops moving. Because, you know, I like to THINK AHEAD. The Baby was finishing her nap and the rest of us lollygagged around (the infield) the house and took showers and lollygagged (around the outfield) and got dressed and brushed our hair, got a few toys together for The Baby and I’m hanging around surfing the ‘nets and I see a box score….
FOR WHAT APPEARS TO BE THE VERY GAME WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GO TO THAT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO START UNTIL 2:55 OR SO MY BRAIN HAS LED ME TO BELIEVE.
So, I freak out, like you do….
Kory runs over and we check the site and realize the game is playing and I run over and grab the tickets and it says 1:10pm ALL OVER THE TICKETS.
1:10 1:10 1:10
1:10 1:10 1:10
WHAT INNING IS IT?, I yell.
TOP OF THE 6th!, Kory yells back.
GRAB THE BABY!!!, we both yell.
And we grab her and The Teen and run screaming and flailing our arms to the car… and we arrive to the Metrodome in the 7th inning, just in time to eat a few dogs and have some nachos and fruit.
And then… it was over.
Because THAT’s how we roll in my house, darlings. Planning-schmanning.
It’s just not a family outing for us if there are no screaming, flailing and nachos.
