Father's Day Rockie Game
Last April at the start of the Major League baseball season Ivy suggested to the twins that they should take me, Ol Monner to the Father's Day Rockie game on, of course, Father's Day. There was some discussion about attending the game the day before Father's Day because the Rockies were handing out bobblehead dolls to the first fifteen thousand fans at the stadium.
After some discussion, the Father's Day game was settled on, because baseball caps were to be given out on Father's Day. With the date decided, the next step was to pick the seats and order the tickets. Somehow, Elaine ended up ordering the tickets. Ivy and both twins agreed to reimburse Elaine for their tickets and split the cost of mine. I can assure you that at least two of my children paid Elaine as agreed. As for the third child, I'm not sure.
Before I got to the game and Father's Day, I need to tell a Public Service story. I have a bad habit and apparently, I have passed it to at least one of my kids, Girl Twin.
I don't like having things in my pockets, especially keys. No keys in your pockets can create a dilemma. How do you start your car and open the doors to your house? That's an easy solution, Leave your keys in the car and don't lock your house. I have Elaine going along with the open-door policy of the house, but the car thing drives her crazy. She takes the keys and carries them herself.
The house is a little different. We have a couple of ideas about leaving our door open. First, we have dogs, big dogs. Sadly we lost our beloved Maggie, one of our Great Pyrennes, last year. In the past when our family loses a member I have written about it. With Maggie, I just couldn't do it. Maggie was my alarm clock as well as our protector of all things Sipes. Except for poultry, Maggie assumes all poultry are intruders and must be exterminated. However, Maggie somehow knew who was allowed in the house and who wasn't.
Secondly, I consider myself well-armed. I have my trusty atlatl (look it up)tucked secretly in the corner of the living room behind Elaine's spinning wheels. I have three Chinese throwing stars on my nightstand. Elaine has knitting needles, sharp ones, on her nightstand. My thoughts are that I can keep any intruder busy while Elaine loads her flintlock rifle. Like any well-regulated militia, we have monthly drills to keep us sharp. Enough said?
After graduation, Girl Twin rented a condo in a small town north of our hometown, hopefully, to gain some independence and maturity. Neither, Elaine nor I, agreed to co-sign a lease. I learned that with the first batch of kids. Anyway, that adds nothing to the story.
It didn't take long for young people's shenanigans to get Girl Twin and the group kicked out of the condo. Did you know landlords frown when your friends egg the front door of your condo? Who knew?
The group of Girl Twins friends split up and moved to other rentals. Girl Twin moved to a condo in our hometown. It's a nice place on a walking/biking trail. The condo is next to an open space with a creek.
A couple of Saturday mornings ago Elaine's cell phone rang. Caller ID identified the caller as Girl Twin. It was much too early for a call from Girl Twin.
Girl Twin: Grandma, you are about to get a call from 911.
Elaine has an app on her phone that calls her phone when one of the kids calls 911.
Girl Twin: Grandma, we had a stranger in our condo. Elaine: What happened? Girl Twin: K#$$%&y's dog was barking. I got out of bed. A guy with a backpack just went out the front door Elaine: Is everyone OK? Did he take anything?
Girl Twin: Yes, we're all fine. He took a few dollars in cash, an expired debit card, and a candle from the bathroom.
Elaine: How did he get in? Girl Twin: We don't lock our door.
Elaine looked squarely at me. I have never told anyone not to lock their door. I just know what works for me.
Thankfully, Girl Twin and her friends do not have a well-regulated militia. As I understand it she would have had to shoot the guy in the back as he left. Cops frown on that. At least I've been told.
Girl Twin did have a chance to yell at the stranger. She asked why the stranger was in the condo. He told her Amy asked him to stop by. There is no Amy living at the condo.
Here is my advice. Our hometown is not a small safe place any longer. Lock your (construction language) doors. At least get a Maggie.
Let's talk about some baseball.
Baseball and my family are two things I love about this life. Don't ask which one is deserving of the most love. I might hurt someone's feelings. OK, I'm just kidding. You people need to lighten up a little. Having said that, my love for baseball started in my childhood. My love for my family started in adulthood. So, you decide.
As a child summers meant sticking my bat and baseball glove in my canvas newspaper bags tied to my bike's handlebars. Complete with one hundred (+,-) newspapers. After the papers were delivered, it was off to baseball practice or a game.
In those days, we didn't wear professional-style uniforms. We had T-shirts with our team name printed on the front. The team names I remember were the Grizzlies and the Cardinals. I'm sure there were more, but do you realize how long ago that was?
As a sophomore, I spent one day trying out for high-school baseball. Why one day? It was glaringly apparent the position I wanted to try out for, had been anointed to the younger brother of a recently graduated player. Time to play ball in the city leagues. I lost the desire temporarily in high school to do things I don't usually talk about, which drove me to Elaine. Elaine wasn't doing bad things and she wasn't going to let me either.
Back to Father's Day and the Rockies.
The kids, Elaine, and I agreed to drive one car to the stadium. It was a little cramped in Elaine's SUV. It really wasn't a problem until Girl Twin decided to remove her shoes and stick her feet between the front seats and rest them on the console next to my right arm. It wasn't as bad as it sounds because she washes her feet. Had it been Boy Twin, I most likely would have wrecked the car.
Boy Twin was wearing his standard cut-off Wally World fleece sweat pants. I think he washed them in 2019, but I can't be sure.
We arrived at the stadium hungry and excited. Our favorite breakfast burrito restaurant was closed for Father's Day, so we were running on empty, except for Elaine, who refuses to eat hand-held burritos. (Elaine had a bagel before she left the house.) Burrito vs. asiago cheese bagel, you decide.
We parked and walked from the "B" lot which I would guess is about a mile from the stadium. (Did I mention, Ivy paid for parking? Thanks, Ive!) That was a heck of a walk for a guy recovering from back surgery.
I saw myself enjoying my yearly ridiculously priced hotdog. Turns out it was just a dream. I settled for a bag of peanuts and a tip. Concession stands lines were long. I didn't see myself standing in a long line, overpaying for a hotdog, and tipping. I was able to overpay for peanuts and tip, way better!
We hadn't been to a game in quite a while. Beervirus canceled one year and my back injury canceled the next. The game started out as a pitcher's duel. Luckily beers were twelve and fourteen dollars, before tips. Yep, they open a can, hand you the can, and hand you a computer tablet so you can add a tip. I don't usually drink beer, so I didn't participate.
The other team's star player injured himself tripping over a base in the first inning. Sadly and unfortunately, that was the only excitement in the early part of the game. I sat next to Elaine. She was having a good time discussing players, batting averages, and the like. AND THEN! In the middle of the fourth inning, Elaine said to me, "There are two pieces of trash in the outfield grass. One of them is shiny. Do you see them? "Yes, dear."
The Rockies broke open the scoring and started to make the game exciting. In the sixth inning, Elaine said to me, "One piece of trash is gone, not the shiny one. It is still there." I love baseball and my family, even on Father's Day.
Our crazy lives!