Tuesday, July 12, 2005

The day everything went right

I went to the MLB All Star Home Run Derby with Kevin last night. We, being dorky sports fans made more dorky by the fact that we're employed in the sporting industry, were insanely excited and giddy and generally acted like complete douche bags.

My dad, who is known in certain circles as the Ticket Pimp of All the World, snagged 8th row tickets for all of the All Star festivities. With 8th row seats just behind the Tigers’ dugout, Kev and I thought we were hot shit.

We drove to CoPa during rush hour. On the shittiest, busiest, most construction-laden expressway in the area. And there was no traffic. Uh. What? We didn’t question our good fortune. We just got off at Rosa Parks Blvd. and paused to take in Tiger Stadium before heading to the Big Show.

We also got off at Rosa Parks Blvd. because I expected the traffic through downtown to be slow and congested and I wanted to impress Kevin with my innate ability to find a smokin’ fast shortcut to the ballpark.

Which I did.

It was a feat I followed up with sliding Stella into a prime parking space in a new, clean, safe and close parking garage.

If having good luck is anything like the ability to turn objects into gold, we were like Prince and Princess Midas.

At Comerica, we breezed into the shortest security line.

We found our section with the ease of professionals.

We waltzed down and down and down and down stairs. Until we finally realized that, behind the dugout, the 8th row isn’t really eight rows up. It’s two.

We were in the fucking second row at the All Star Home Run Derby.

And then we both scooped the poo out of our pants and sat down for a rather fantastic evening.

We saw a shitload of home runs.
And Jennie Finch.
And Shane Battier.
And that dude from Desperate Housewives. James Denton, I think.
We spent a combined $10.50 on bottled water.
All of the National League all stars were sitting on the grass mere feet from us.
Kevin burned through his film and accosted my digital camera for 50 more pictures.
I ate nachos.
We felt extremely fortunate.

And Bobby Abreu kicked a whole lot of ass.

We left the stadium without seeing the fireworks (I know, I know, but it was 11:30. Thank you, ESPN, for squeezing in every commercial possible). Found the parking garage. Found the Stella. And waited in line for the cashier for approximately 17 seconds.

We paid $5 for parking.

And laughed, for a long period of time, at the suckers who paid $40.

Then we drove home. Without incident. Without traffic jams.

We are shooters.

4 comments:

Plantation said...

Wow, sounds like such a great time. Maybe Kev's the dude for you, not Colin?

A said...

I really, really like Kevin but I think it's pretty clear that we're just friends and he likes it that way. I'm okay with it; he's a good friend.

But I'm definitely not saying that Colin is the dude for me.

Mrs. Architect said...

What a sweet night! Glad you had tons of fun with a great guy!

ropedncr said...

wowsers! you two are awesome.

 
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