Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

My financial advisor called this morning to say that their company was sponsoring the Idaho Falls Chukars baseball game tonight, and offered me free tickets, as well as an invitation to a barbecue before the game. Not one to pass up an opportunity to not cook dinner--this would make two nights so far this week, with two more to come--I gladly accepted. And I thought it would be fun for the boys to watch a professional baseball team in action, albeit minor league.

Dinner was great--what is it about food cooked outdoors that makes it taste so good?I had a cheeseburger with double cheese, Hayden and Cameron had hot dogs, and Jacob, a hot dog bun--yeah, just the bun. There was also fresh vegetables, potato salad, chips, water or pop, and Fat Boy ice cream sandwiches for dessert--really, a pretty decent meal, especially for the price (free).

After we finished eating, we made our way into the stadium to find a seat (general admission tickets get you bleacher seats, but at least there’s a back on the bench). We sat on the side near the dugout of the visiting team, the Helena Brewers, in order to have the sun at our backs instead of in our eyes. Next time we go--if there is a next time--I’ll likely pay the extra five bucks for reserved seating. We saw a grandma and a middle-aged man threatening each other over the fairness of saving a whole row of seats. I was sure there’d be a fist fight before the end of the night; and I’m pretty confident that the grandma would have won.

I brought a book to read while we waited for the game to begin, though, with all the distractions, I didn’t do much reading. Ironically, its title would prove to be an apt description of the game: The Comedy of Errors. Without going into all the painful details, I’ll just say the Chukars were outgunned.

We left before the fourth inning--for several reasons:

Number One: Seated immediately behind us was a hoard of minimally-supervised (you guessed it, they were with Grandma Ali) eight-year-old boys at a birthday party, all of whom were hopped up on snow cones and cotton candy, which, when taken in combination, disables the volume control in juvenile males.

Number Two: I got tired of fielding requests for the aforementioned snow cones and cotton candy from my own sons. “You already had dessert” isn’t a legitimate reason when you’re a boy between the ages of nine and thirteen. It really stinks to have a stingy and sensible mom when you’re at the ballpark.

Number Three: Honestly, we were just plain bored! When we left, the Brewers were up by seven runs and the Chukars were scoreless, apparently incapable of even getting a man on base, and oblivious to the concept of defense (okay, that last part isn’t entirely true. They did make a triple play, but that was the only exciting thing they did).

Had I paid for the tickets, I might have toughed it out, but the seats were pretty hard, and Cameron did need get to bed at a reasonable hour if he was going to get up in time for Day Camp in the morning, and it was already eight-thirty and only the third inning. And so, personal comfort and logic overruled fortitude and perseverance.

In the end, the Chukars lived up to their name--they chucked the ball past the third baseman, they chucked the ball over the head of the catcher, they chucked their chance of winning that particular game (I hope I don’t wake up in the morning to the news that the Chukars made a miraculous fourth inning rally and pulled off a stunning upset over the Brewers, 36-7, because then I’d have to eat my words--and I’m still full from dinner).

“Happiness is not a destination. It is a journey, pure and simple.” ~ Ivory Soap wrapper

Friday was Jacob’s last day of summer school, and I decided to treat him to a smoothie as a reward for working hard. “I’ve got a surprise,” was all I had told him. We drove east down Main Street, and pulled into a parking space in front of Jamba Juice. I glanced over at Jacob, expecting to see him smiling. His response was not what I had anticipated. In a voice that couldn’t mask his obvious disappointment, he said, “Oh. I thought we were going to test drive a Solstice.” (Ever since he had seen the first Transformers movie, he’d been begging me to take him for a ride in Pontiac’s very cool sports car). We had driven past Erickson Pontiac on the way to Jamba Juice, but I never imagined Jacob would think that was where we were headed.

Following an impulse to make a nine-year-old boy happy--and not knowing whether they actually had a Solstice--I put the car in reverse and drove to the Pontiac dealership. There, on a raised platform for all the world to admire, was a shiny, red convertible--a top-of-the-line, turbo-charged, six-cylinder, leather-trimmed, fully loaded Solstice. Jacob was beaming in anticipation. We walked into the showroom and approached the first salesman we saw. I explained to him that I was on a date with this young man and all he wanted was to have a ride in the car parked out front. He said that could be arranged. He got the key and a dealer plate, and asked if we’d like the top up or down. Jacob and I looked at each other, then said, “Down!” We wanted the full wind-in-our-hair experience.

The salesman carefully drove the car down the ramp to the parking lot, then turned it over to us for a few brief moments of what can best be described as unbridled driving euphoria (I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for not owning any automatic transmission cars when I was learning to drive, otherwise this story would have a very sad ending--the Solstice had a five speed manual transmission). As we pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic, my ears were filled with the sound of joyous giggles--Jacob’s, and mine. We drove along country roads to our home where we could show the car to Hayden and Cameron, then took Highway 20 back to the dealership. As we headed north, I was tempted to turn our short joy ride into a longer road trip to Yellowstone--or maybe even Canada. But we reluctantly returned the Solstice to its rightful owner, got in our rather-tame-by-comparison Hyundai, and drove back to Jamba Juice, where we reveled in the memory of our excursion over postponed smoothies.

The drive had been exhilarating, and the look of pure pleasure on Jacob’s face was priceless. But what I loved most was when he turned to me and said, “Thanks, Mom. You made my dream come true.”