The opposing team. BOO! (or something)
Matt, very intently studying the rosters and stats.
Like, very intently.
Me: "Hey, what's so interesting?" "Oh."
Me: "Hey, look over here. These photos are boring. Don't worry, I'll make them HUGE on blogger so they seem more colorful and interesting... albeit slightly chopped off on the sides."
Me: "Nooooow we're getting to the interesting part."
Jon H., I took this one for you. Now if a certain Father-in-Law starts bragging about making it to home plate, you have photographic evidence of the starting point. What can I say? That's what friends are for.
A real pitch. Sort of. This guy wasn't that good either.
There were a few of these that broke up the monotony, but I have come to the conclusion that I'm just not a baseball girl. (Interestingly enough, they did NOT put up this bright, exciting sign when the OTHER team made a home run.)
A shot of us shortly before...
We left because the guys behind us were sufficiently drunk and increasingly annoying. They were saying stuff like:
Idiot A: Do you know what a "butter face" is?
Idiot B: No, what?
Idiot B: No, what?
Idiot A: An ugly girl with a good body. Everything "butter face" looks good.
AND
Idiot A (in loud, redneck voice): Come on, Man, ask me if I'm havin' a good time?
Idiot B: Are you having a good time?
Idiot A: Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?
AND
Idiot A: I guess that guy just got back from Mamby-Pampy Land.
Idiot B: (laughs... sort of)
Idiot A: It's going to be great when "Mamby-Pamby Land" gets out. It's going to spread like wildfire. And I started it."
On that note, Matt asked if I was ready to leave and go get dinner. (UM, does a one legged duck swim in a circle???) In my ten years with Matt, I have never known him to leave a sporting event early, so I knew they must be getting on his nerves...
So off to Chili's we went where I ordered the ever-delicious Margarita Grilled Chicken.
The End.
What's that? Who won? Honestly, I DON'T EVEN KNOW. Matt said when we got home that nobody else scored after we left. Huh. You would think that would tell me something. But, nope. NO CLUE AS TO WHO WON THE GAME. But man, I could give you some details on that Margarita Grilled Chicken. Priorities, folks, priorities.
