The first game I attended was the aftermath of the Dodger rainout extravaganza. I talked to my good buddy John Gennaro and he was all "Dude let's totes go to the game today and watch two Padres victories! What a great way to shut up all those smelly doucherific Dodger fans. Oh the fun and high fives we will have!" This sounded like a great idea to me, so I grabbed a ticket and sat in section 117, right on the field. Let's leave behind the fact that it was the single worst fan experience of my life (heckled for wearing my own teams colors IN OUR OWN STADIUM, surrounded by screaming - yes actually full on shrieking - Dodger fan chicas who were full of hate and disdain for little old angelic me), but we scored zero runs in the extra innings of the previous night's game.
So I love my Padres. I really do. But I am currently in a predicament of biblical proportions (at least the justdave edition of the Bible in which the Padres vanquish the suck). See the Padres have yet to score a point when I attend the Park they call Petco. Not one single lowly run. Not even by accident. And if you don't think that teams score runs by accident, you clearly don't watch enough baseball. It's not like I only went to one game either...
"Well there's always next game," I thought, echoing a common refrain I have gotten so used to saying that I say it in my sleep or at inappropriate times like weddings and funerals, "and lucky for us next game is RIGHT NOW." John and I high fived many times and got prepped for the inevitable Padres victory that was to come.
or not... as the night would have it.
We showed our offensive (yes, I am aware of both connotations that this word implies, and yes I am using it both ways cause I'm clever.. like a cat. That's why my friends call me Whiskers...) skills in the second half of that game by managing a whopping six hits and pushing exactly zero runs across the plate.
"Hmm," thought I, "I just watched my Padres for five hours surrounded by stankly Dodger blue and didn't see one single solitary lonely pathetic run. What a pooptastic day."
Fastforward to GLB the night minus one, the Thursday game against Oswalt and the Phillies. I tagged along with my roommate, an employee of Ashford University (Ashford, who are they? I've never heard of this strange place that definitely doesn't advertise at all at Petco Park). We chilled up in the Hall of Fame Bar and Grill for the whole game, which woulda been alright if your boy still drank the sauce. However, happily I am 10 weeks booze free and so I basically was just attacking the Pretzel dogs they serve up there with reckless abandon. I've seen Oswalt pitch against us in person roughly eleventy thousand times, so I knew what we were up against and what was likely to happen. And sho-nuff, it did, and we got buzzsawed. Zero runs, four hits.
GLB the night. Surely, with all the good vibes created by Dex and jbox packing that ENTIRE section with GLBers, we would manage to score many points. That way we could all try to high five the two of them and watch them awkwardly slink away to avoid human contact. I was so excited to try to grab the two of them with my freakishly long arms and pull them in to a loving embrace while Johnny Dub looked on longingly and wishing he was part of the justdave love sandwich.
No dice. Twas not to be. Our San Diego Padres got four hits and zero runs. Again. Now don't get me wrong, I love me some GLBTN. That was one of the more entertaining fan experiences I've had in a long time. Even the Philly fans in our section were pretty cool. We all had quite a laugh heckling Mr. "Look-at-my-sweet-biceps" Phillies fan as he got thrown out, then said very kind and above the table things about his totes classy GF who definitely didn't get thrown out for starting fights, just cause we were all up in her biz yo.
We just couldn't score.
So let's do the math. I have attended 3.222(repeating) games this season. That's 29 innings. In those 29 innings, I have witnessed 17 hits and zero runs.
So here's the question. Is it me? What should I do?