Sunday was a perfect day to go to the ballpark. The temperatures were warm, but not overly hot, and the Angels were playing Toronto, their last home game before the All-Star break.
And I'd found some great seats, third base side just off home plate...in the shade.
The spouse and I have been going to Angels games for more than 20 years. When he discovered that I was a baseball fan--our first phone conversation, which lasted for 3 hours, 2 of which were devoted to the game--his next mission was to make me an Angels fan. Although I'd never had an allegiance to any one major league team, I'd always had a bit of a National League bias, so it took some persuasion on his part.
And it takes a certain sort of masochism to be an Angels fan.
Hard to say what won the day. Chuck Finley's rear end (I was never allowed to sit in that part of the park again after averring that I didn't mind the view) or later, Mark Langston, or just the hard-working, fun-to-watch players like Chili Davis, Devon White, Wally Joyner, Bob Boone.
Maybe it was that, in those days, the Angels were our little secret. There were never that many at the stadium unless Boston or the Yankees were visiting, and then most of the people there were cheering for the opposition.
Maybe I just like underdogs.
After mowing the lawn yesterday, we set off for the stadium.
The daughter spent the brief drive creating mayhem with a stuffed Rally Monkey.
"Weapon of Mass Irritation," the spouse muttered of the monkey.
We settled into our seats a little before game time. A good breeze was blowing, just enough humidity to whip my hair up into irritating little curls. The daughter bounced up and down in her seat, waving her monkey and clutching her glove (just in case!).
It's all very well and good to stay home and watch the games on our nice high def TV, and drink $1 import beers and eat homemade popcorn, but few things are more satisfying than the sound of the ball smacking leather or the crack of the bat.
Or leaping to your feet, yelling, when your team does something good. Or booing a bad call with 40,000 others.
It was a perfect day to go to the ballpark. The Angels won decisively, and Garland pitched a complete game. I evidently yelled a lot more than I thought I had because my throat was raw by the time we left.
Everyone was all smiles when we piled in the car to go home.
Go listen to some music: "Calling All Angels" from the album My Private Nation by Train. They always play this song before the game starts.