Mark Want to Go Baseball Game

We took the kids to a Tiger's game today. It was a beautiful day for baseball: clear skies, 80 degrees, complemented by an occasional breeze. It's too bad that the Tiger's lost. It's also too bad that we took the kids.

We should have known better.

Why, every time I go to Detroit, do I feel like I'm visiting that cantina in Mos Isley?

All Mark's been saying for the past week is "Mark want to go baseball game." To which, we suggest, "I would like to go to a baseball game." And he replies, "I want to go baseball game."

Natalie's also begged to go. Why? That's a good question. Even I get bored at baseball games, and I'm the guy who poured through the official government records of the Civil War.

Still, we went. It was a family outing, sponsored by Natalie's school, St. Thecla, and we're a family.

The drive there was uneventful. We listened to Johnny Cash and tried to get Mark to sing along during "Ring of Fire" (which he usually does), and we walked in an hour before game time.

We made our way up to the 200 level picnic area, ate hamburgers and hot dogs, drank pop, and planned to watch the game through the third inning, at which time we would go to the merry-go-round.

Three innings can take an amazingly long period of time when you're with a two and five year old.

Throughout those innings, Natalie remarked nonstop that she was thirsty. Mark simply moved from his seat to my lap to Jennie's lap to his seat to my lap to Natalie's lap to Jennie's lap to his seat and so forth.

The final out of the third inning was a blessing, or was it a curse? First, Mark wanted to go to the baseball game, and there was no explaining to him that we were at the baseball game. He must have somehow imagined that he'd be playing baseball at the game. Perhaps a couple of years ago, the Tigers could have used him, but not now. Second, a stinking bottle of water cost me $3.50. Third, we had to pass a vendor who was selling (in Mark's words), "Big tiger claw!" (one of the giant foam hands--in the shape of a tiger claw). He wanted one. I didn't buy it, and I might as well have shot our dog in front of him. He threw himself to the pavement, crying out, "Mark want big tiger claw. I want, Mark want, big tiger claw." But I, apparently, kept pouring lead into our beagle's midsection.

So I picked him up and walked on towards the merry-go-round. He wiped his tears and snot on my shoulder (lovely), but kept on about the big tiger claw. Natalie, throughout this time, was quite good. We weren't just sitting there, and she was downing water that cost its weight in gold.

To get Mark to stop crying, I told him that we were going on a horsy ride (I wasn't sure that he knew what a merry-go-round was by name). That did the trick, and he even walked nicely to the ride. That's when he sees that the merry-go-round at Comerica Park is not a horsy ride, but, apropos, a tiger ride. This revelation begat another meltdown. "Mark want horsy ride! I want horsy ride!" Why this was an issue, I don't know. Riding a tiger must be ten times cooler than riding a horse. Hell, you never saw John Wayne ride of into the sunset on a Bengal Tiger, did you?

So Mark and I leave Jennie and Natalie. We go for a walk. For pretty much the whole time, Mark told me that he wanted to go on the tiger ride. Once he was calm, we returned--and just in time. Natalie was about to get on the ride. Jennie told me to go on with them and that she would take pictures. As we walked through the turnstile, the lady there told me "Two dollars." I showed her my wristband, which meant that I was part of the St. Thecla party and was thus entitled to free rides. She replied that the rides were free for children, but for adults they were two dollars--as if I was going on the merry-go-round because I thought it would be awesome.

I told her to forget it, that I just wanted to strap the kids in securely, so she let me pass. I did my paternal duty and stepped off the ride.

The kids had a blast, which was only partially good. The second I had Mark off the ride, he chimed in, "I want ride tiger ride." This, of course, meant that I had to endure another tear and snot drenched shoulder whilst we made our way back to our seats (at least he used the same shoulder).

We stayed for the whole game. Mark fell asleep in my arms at the start of the eighth inning, and I dozed off as well. With one out left in the bottom of the ninth, Jennie woke me up to say that we should move toward left field. That was where kids were lining up for a chance to run the bases after the game.

To be honest, I wanted to run with the kids. It would complement my dream--the one where I just hit my hundredth homerun for the season. I would round the bases with my hands in the air, and of course thank God and anabolic steroids for all of my blessings.

Don't laugh. It's just a dream. A hundred homeruns in a season? You might ask, so sue me. I aim high. Hey, it's a dream, so why not make it AWESOME? Then why not make it a thousand homeruns in a season? You reply. BECAUSE I"M NOT AN IDIOT, that's why. There's no way that I or anyone could hit that many homeruns in a season, so stop being such a moron and read on.

Let me tell you about this line. Have you ever imagined the line to enter Noah's Ark? It was nothing compared to this line. It made a new ride line at Cedar Point look like the line to buy tickets for a porno starring James Gandolfini and Hillary Clinton. It wrapped 2/3 around the stadium. Needless to say, we didn't wait in it. I'm not sure if I'd wait in line that long for access to the Pearly Gates.

So we leave the stadium and head for the car. We get to the car, and I strap Mark in to his car seat, and he says, "Mark want to go baseball game."

I will ponder for the rest of my days what he meant by going to a baseball game. We'd been at the ballpark for four and a half hours. It would have been twice that if we'd waited in line to run the bases.

Oh well, I grow tired now.