Play ball (and other stories)

Okay, where to begin? In an effort to get back on track with the blog, I've got a lot of ground to cover. I've been in a bit of a funk since my return from the mainland. A day after my return, I woke to some back pain that isn't supposed to happen when you're 30. Deciding maybe I pulled a muscle carrying heavy bags or something to and from the airport, I decided I had no choice but to suck it up. Cut to two days later, and I could not move and/or walk due to the excruciating pain. Seriously. I was miserable. Four days after that the back pain was miraculously gone, but was replaced by some serious dizzy spells that I decided were associated with a near ibuprofen overdose from my attempts to curb the back pain. Good times. I called my doctor, but he is reportedly living it up on vacation in Boston. Born and raised here, apparently he decided to do a little leaf peeping (which is in my top five most hated phrases). Don't worry, parents, I'm still going to see him when he gets back just in case (special thanks to my friends whose response to my complaints were the more-excited-than-sympathetic "maybe you have a brain tumor!" exclamations). I have missed the fall weather, though, and get mildly frustrated when I cannot make phone calls after 5:00 pm to friends at home. Still, just tonight I walked outside and decided the weather was changing - it was downright cool. I promptly checked - it is 78 degrees out. After only six months here, it's possible that I would die in New England in January.

Anyway, I'm taking the day off tomorrow (though still on call) in an effort to have some fun and remind me of why I live here in the first place. Seriously, nothing's that bad if my complaints for this week were as follows: The library here sucks so bad that I had to call and speak to three different people to see why the current #1 NYT bestseller isn't even on their 'to order' list (I love you, Stephen Colbert, but do not pay full price for hardback books). I also called the Skippy customer service line because the $4 (on sale) jar of peanut butter I bought the other day was disgusting as a result of the heat it endured on its way to Hawaii. But things are looking up... there's a free taco coming my way next week (more on that later). Oh, and I got an email response to the complaint I lodged regarding the gropey shuttle driver at my Nashville hotel. Has anyone noticed my new love of contacting customer service agencies and not thought that I have now completely and totally turned into my mother? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Shall we talk about what I did this week? Sure! After much anticipation, I attended my first Hawaii Winter League baseball game. I learned of its existence very shortly after moving here, as one of the first things I did was research the options for minor league or college baseball. Of course, after some discussions with friends and colleagues here, it became apparent that I was the only one who knew the Winter League existed. I went on Tuesday night, after a quick stop at the outlet mall down the street (quick review: good stores, plenty of parking, but a bit of a disappointment after spending time in Florida where they build outlet malls the size of college campuses. If I were a tourist in Waikiki who took a bus all the way to Waipahu for that, I would have been mildly pissed). I wasn't expecting enormous crowds, but I definitely did that double-take 'this is it?' thing when I pulled in the parking lot. At the start of the game, there were maybe 15 of us, but another few dozen showed up by the end (most likely related to the players). Still, here's the thing: the quality of the baseball itself wasn't that bad (pretty decent pitching, pretty awful defense), the price was right ($5, obviously right behind the plate), I forgot how fun it is to actually hear the close-up crack of the bat after $20 bleachers seats in Fenway Park where you can't even see any of the players except the right fielder, and the quality of the hot dog was superb. All in all, not a bad night. Downside? You really did feel like the other spectators were looking at you funny if you weren't directly related to someone on the roster, and the park itself, while I wouldn't say is in a bad neighborhood, didn't feel exceptionally safe to me. I placed 3 to 1 odds (when betting with myself) on whether my car would be broken into before the end of the game. (It was not). How about some pictures?



The view from my highly desirable (but not at all difficult to obtain) seats. Actually, when I got to the ticket booth, the guy asked me, "where do you want to sit?" I had no idea. "Um, first base line?" Him, skeptically: "on the grass?" Me: "No, I'd like a seat." Cause of the confusion? There are bleachers behind home plate, and less expensive bleachers down the third base line, but nothing but grass along the first base line. Now I get it.

Those packed third baseline seats I mentioned. There were five people sitting there, and they got a special shout-out from the PA announcer. I also specifically remembered that he was local, as he asked "howzit?", a question I have been here long enough that I now answer without hesitation, rather than looking blankly at the person who asked.
The home team's dugout, which had no true bench, and enough chairs for about three players.

The old guy behind me took the picture for me. I felt this was a more than fair exchange after sitting in front of him for 5 innings at this point. He was completely blind and, after every play, would ask "did he catch it?" or "Was it foul?" and then actually question balls and strikes. Loved him.

This was my favorite part. There was, surprisingly, a mascot (that seemed too high budget for me). But, if you look closely, his jersey simply says "Hawaii." There's one mascot for four teams.

Surely, after that review, you want to hear more, no? http://www.hawaiiwinterbaseball.com/ I'm very seriously considering throwing myself a birthday party there next month. No kidding.

So, I suppose this is an appropriate time to talk about actual MLB post-season play. I did successfully jump on the Tribe bandwagon just in time to have my heart broken. Also, while I have just enough Boston ties that I will continue to root for them to win the World Series (now that the Indians are gone), I totally understand those people who are beginning to say that the Red Sox are the Yankees of this century, what with the payroll and the fans around the country with no true ties to Massachusetts in any way, shape, or form. Case in point? I met a lovely family at a barbecue that happened to coincide with ALCS Game 7, who were all about the Red Sox. Continuing questioning, though, revealed no New England roots (which I can't blame them for, because if you're born and raised in Hawaii, an arbitrary favorite team is acceptable in my opinion) as well as a non-existent understanding of Red Sox history pre-2004 ("Really? Manny played for Cleveland once?"). Perhaps the final straw for me, however, was when they instructed their small children to pray for the Sox prior to their meal. Hmm. Let's just leave it at that. Anyway, I'm just saying - I get why people hate Boston. And their fans. (Even though true Red Sox fans are among the most knowledgeable in the country).

So the World Series has begun, and while it's often cool that the games start at 2:00 pm here, I couldn't get out of work yesterday to watch live. Instead, I settled for gamecast and constant email commentary from Lano. Luckily, I didn't feel like I missed much when I wondered aloud if there should be a mercy rule of some sort. While 'working,' though, I did come across the free taco promotion on mlb.com and immediately inquired whether Lano knew about it. He informed me that Fox was promoting it incessantly (is there another way for Fox to promote anything?) and I was quickly obsessed with the elusive stolen base, as well as reading the fine print regarding contest rules. (Of note? The lawyers who write the aforementioned fine print apparently think that the plural of 'taco' is 'taco's.' It's not.) Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Sounds of the Game offered us this gem (again, thanks, Lano) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QI8C9gW1Y0 , and now I cannot go an hour without saying "I ain't got my taco." I have no idea why this amuses me so. Anyway, Taco Bell, next Tuesday, 2:00-5:00, be there or be square. What a lovely birthday present for my brother.

And on that note, I've gotten three pages since I started writing this, which means the transplant gods are simply not going to leave me alone tonight when they know I want to go to the beach first thing in the morning. Boo.