Fireworks!

Every year, staff from the library take the summer student workers to Frontier Field to see a Red Wings game. They invite staff families to get tickets at a special price and come along as well. "What a great idea," I thought. "The boys like sports, and this way they can get to know my colleagues while having fun." So I bought the tickets even though (I am almost ashamed to admit this - it seems so unAmerican) I don't really care for baseball. I have been to football, basketball, hockey, volleyball, and soccer games galore on the high school, college, and professional levels. But never to a baseball game on any level. I have friends who are avid fans, but I just can't get into a game that seems so inactive.

Turns out the boys didn't really want to go. I had to ask them to come for my sake. Drew was rather put out about being made to go, but since he had no choice in the matter, he found himself standing in line with the rest of the group, waiting for the gates to open at 5:30 (which thanks to Roberts early Friday closing we were able to be first in line!).

It seemed rather like a horse race when the gates opened and we all streamed inside. We were handed complimentary blue baseball hats with the logo of the evening's sponsor on it (and the three of us got our picture taken for the corporate newsletter), and we ordered pizza and rootbeer for dinner. We had plenty of time to eat before the game began, and our seats were about the best in the house - right behind home plate and high enough up to see everything. The young man who was to sing the national anthem paced about nervously while the boy scout troup marched onto the field with the flag and various officials surrounded them. We all stood for the singing - he did a marvelous job - cheering afterwards while they introduced the starting lineup (oops - a bit of football lingo jumped in).

I think I figured out how baseball has been able to stay a competitive sport for event attendance. Every minute or so, there was a sideline activity to keep you entertained when the game got slow. They gave away tickets, prizes, had the mascot throw baseballs up into the bleachers (and numerous pop flies took the same route to some eager child's hands), played music, got everyone clapping or cheering, ran contests, vendors hawked wares - it almost felt like some medieval renaissance fair. Except for the loud announcer's voice.

The boys ended up having a good time, and really got into repeating the players names with just the right inflection, especially enjoying the name Tommy Watkins. Even when it began to rain, no one wanted to leave. I put up my umbrella, and the boys just got wet. Fortunately, the rain stopped before the end of the game, and we were able to stay for the fireworks. I guess Rochester felt bad about our missing the Fourth of July celebrations and wanted to give us another chance. They even added music with lyrics that matched the weather and the colors and the noise (as kids we used to call fireworks bing-bang-booms).


All in all a wonderful evening topped off by a stop at Wegmans for ice cream on the way home.
Perhaps I would consider doing that again!