20 Questions

I love baseball, so a few weeks back when a friend had five tickets to a Twins game that he couldn’t use, I jumped at the chance to go. I actually hadn’t been to a game yet this season, and it coincided with Justin’s birthday, so it was fun to get out for one of the last games of the regular season. Cameron already had plans to go to a sleepover, Alex isn’t into baseball and would have been restless, and Barry was annoyed at the Twins because they weren’t very good this year, and were way out of play-off contention, so that left David, Justin, and me. David invited his friend, Mark. That meant I had one more ticket. So I sent a text to my fabulous friend, Julie.

Julie is not at all a sports fan. Not that she’s a delicate flower or anything; she’s seen Alien vs. Predator at least 20 times. But baseball is decidedly not her deal. But she hadn’t been to the beautiful new Target Field yet, and was totally on board for a night out with my oddball crew. A minute after she accepted my invitation, she texted back, “Do they do the sumo suits at half time? Or whatever?”

Um, no. This is apparently something she’s seen at a St. Paul Saints game, a local Northern League team. Probably not at “half time” though.

When I told David that Julie was taking the extra ticket, he replied with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” (Julie doesn’t treat kids like kids, and is therefore a fan favorite.) Soon she told me that she was engaged in a text conversation with David, and had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “Something about a perfect game and Mauer or someone else doing something. I’m just totally agreeing with him. That seems the safest course of action.”

Before we left to pick her up, I called to see if we could swing by earlier. She asked me what I was wearing. “Are flip flops okay?”

I assured her that the dress code at an MLB game was pretty much wide open. When we arrived, she was thoroughly impressed with the architecture and elegant design of the stadium. And between harassing the boys about girlfriends and such, and doing juvenile stuff that made Justin’s little one-sided dimple show when he smiled at her goofy antics, she continued to ask random questions that amused me to no end. Such a newbie.

They were selling programs and scorecards as we walked in, “What the hell would you want a pencil for?”
“To keep score.”

“What are they shooting out of those air cannons?”
“Probably tee shirts.”

A player’s bio on the big screen. “That guy looks old. 24? Is that his age?”
“No, that’s his number. On his jersey.”

The line score. “Ok, so 251, what does that number mean?”
“Twins have two runs, five hits, and one error.”

“What IS a perfect game?” (A fair question.)
“When a pitcher doesn’t allow any hits or any walks.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Very rarely.”

Goofy drunk guys behind us trying to rally the team by yelling, “Rrruns. Rrruns. Rrruns!”
“What do they mean by ‘runs?'”
“Points.”

They’re so adorable at that age with their questions and curiosity!

© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012

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