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Them Doofy Nats
May. 3rd, 2012 02:27 amSéain accompanied me to Nationals Stadium tonight to see the second of three home games against the Arizona Diamondbacks. After last night's disappointment—the Nats' fifth loss in a row, having dropped one to the Padres and a three-sweep to the Yanks—tonight was more of a roller coaster than usual: Nats conjured one run in the third (Ramos singled, Lombardozzi doubled); Dbacks came up with two, top four; Nats grab two more in the same inning (Espinosa BB, steals second; Harper doubles, scoring Espinosa; Ramos singles, scoring Harper): so we're ahead 3-2. After a blank fifth, the Dbacks score two more in the sixth, and there we sit, down 4-3, out after out, through the sixth... the seventh (one runner left on base)... the eighth (TWO runners left on base)... and then the ninth, which starts with young man Harper getting his second double of the night; then forward Ks from Ramos and Ankiel. Down to our last out, with Harper stuck at second, Ian Desmond gets up and sees three 4-seam fastballs in a row: Fouls the first. Takes the second for a ball. And smashes the third with his cudgel such that it proceeds game-endingly yonder.
So: Rah!
I had scored the rare Diamond Club seats from Chisanbop, so we availed ourselves piggily of the free grub (though we quaffed only a pair of Blue Moons each). These tickets are face value $170 each, and they share a border with seats, arguably equally lovely (but without fud and drink) that go for less than half that price. By contrast, my season ticket seats are in Section 314, so close to directly behind home plate that you really can't tell whether you're a bit left or a bit right from where you're sitting... but up two levels. What I've come to understanding sitting around this ball park is that the Diamond Club seats are mostly corporate season tickets, just like Chisanbop's. They are therefore heavily populated by corporate douchebags—ultra-privileged males who expect the world to drop what it's doing and come lick their scrota clean on request. (For extra bother, there were loud, stupid people behind us: five 30ish dolts who couldn't between them figure out who the fourth president was in the Geico Presidents' Race, besides Geo. Washington, Abe Lincoln, and Teddy Roosevelt.)
Mind you, Chisanbop's Diamond Club seats are mighty fine... but for company, I think I'll head back up to my nosebleeds, thanks just the same.
So: Rah!
I had scored the rare Diamond Club seats from Chisanbop, so we availed ourselves piggily of the free grub (though we quaffed only a pair of Blue Moons each). These tickets are face value $170 each, and they share a border with seats, arguably equally lovely (but without fud and drink) that go for less than half that price. By contrast, my season ticket seats are in Section 314, so close to directly behind home plate that you really can't tell whether you're a bit left or a bit right from where you're sitting... but up two levels. What I've come to understanding sitting around this ball park is that the Diamond Club seats are mostly corporate season tickets, just like Chisanbop's. They are therefore heavily populated by corporate douchebags—ultra-privileged males who expect the world to drop what it's doing and come lick their scrota clean on request. (For extra bother, there were loud, stupid people behind us: five 30ish dolts who couldn't between them figure out who the fourth president was in the Geico Presidents' Race, besides Geo. Washington, Abe Lincoln, and Teddy Roosevelt.)
Mind you, Chisanbop's Diamond Club seats are mighty fine... but for company, I think I'll head back up to my nosebleeds, thanks just the same.
