I went to the game, everybody. It was cool. Metaphorically, of course. Weather-wise it was hot as heck. This was the first game I didn't bother to bring a scarf and/or sweatshirt all season. My seats are in the shade along a corridor that whips up an icy wind no matter how hot it is, except for today. Today, it was "hella" hot, as our rivals would say.
The journey down "The Five" was okay until around Sea World where I saw up ahead about a half mile, a silver car spinning out of control, and everyone slowing down. p effin cray cray accidente had just happened. A bunch of people pulled over to help so I just kept going, I can't be witnessing accidents, I have a win to witness. It was not entirely unlike the "Bummer" episode in the second season of Louie.
I got to my seats a half hour before first pitch to find Large Giants Fan and Wife in MY SEATS. Again. You guys, what the hella. I told the man, "You're in my seats." He and his wife go to get up, and he somehow begins this slow motion pathetic fall into the aisle. I kinda reached to help him not fall as hard, as you do for fellow humans, but he drops his large Trevor Hoffman cup of carbonated corn sugar right onto my right foot, soaking it instantly to the sock. He was fine, but my sock suffered for innings to come. I managed to catch a glimpse of his ticket before his blunder, and he wasn't even in the right section. In my experience this series, Giants fan is completely ticket-illiterate.
My Dear Mother and Mrs Ax arrived to the seats after grabbing our collective lunch from Lucky's Lunch Counter just before first pitch. They asked if I'd heard about "The Accident." I had to ask for clarification; was it the bone-crushing 11-80 we had all just witnessed, or something else? No, it was the man falling. I caused, "The Accident."
My notes say "Good first inning" here. Everth took like, all the pitches.
I didn't like when both teams were warned. Clayton was still struggling with control at that point. I don't care if it's what the homer would say, it was manure. As was the strike-zone.
I thought it would be really cool that I kept track of how many pitches Everth took against Vogelsong, but jbox already noted it here, so that note is worthless. It was thirty. Thirty pitches.
Other game notes: We won taco coupons and my amazing, incredible streak of winning hat shuffle every single time remains intact.
This post is brought to you by my dog, who wouldn't stop staring at me like this as I put the words into computer.