Foul Territory
By M. Bigg ©2006
You could feel the sexual heat seeping from them from the moment they took their seats.
Hot fun at the old ballpark. The game got under way, and they were all over each other. She was a thin, radiating blond; he was macho/metro with an overgrown crew cut and lots of product to keep it there.
The game got underway and Prior was pitching his comeback game. Confident and quick but he couldn’t keep up with these two. The moves were non-stop. The slider under her blouse, the reach up his leg, talk about change ups…
As I got to know them I wondered if they were married, dating or perhaps even carrying on a torrid affair. The latter seemed most likely, behaviorally speaking.
The game was moving along at a great pace. Excitement building and not just on the field.
The beers were flowing as the amore continued with our Velcro couple but by now I was losing interest. So much going on all around. A loud foul-mouthed creature for every section. We had one who seemed to like Corey Patterson. “Hey C.P. Hey C.P. Hey. C.P.” ad nauseam. OK we get it -you can initialize. Then as the defense makes some missteps, he starts in with the F-word. I’m looking at the grandmother in our row with three doting grandsons, yeah that’s what she wants to hear. Ah - memories at the old ballpark.
There was a quiet but intent boy sitting next to us, with mom. He gripped his mitt tightly, ever ready, ever hopeful for a chance to catch the elusive foul ball. He only took it off to go to the men’s room. They were into the game, serious smiles being exchanged throughout.
I love the rhythm of the field, constant motion surrounding the cacophony that ebbs and flows but never ends. I’m so glad they stopped blasting bad music between innings. Baseball fans don’t need it, they provide their own energy. That’s what is undeniably unique being at home with the Cubs.
The ice cream vendor crashed into the portly souvenir man, he got mad, turning to chase him up the aisle, it was hilarious to see him bouncing with all the hats, banners, bears and foam fingers flapping. Look out ice cream guy, he’s gaining on you!
I time my trips to the ladies room carefully. We are in very desirable real estate bathroom-wise; it’s location, location, location. A straight shot down the stairs up a short ramp and the door of relief is there.
I return lighter and brighter, the game is a pitchers duel and it’s 0-0 in the top of the seventh. But a good indication that momentum will change is the number of foul balls coming back into the seats.
Amazingly, in all the years we’ve been here only three, possibly four foul balls hit close enough to go for- unless you are rubber band man. The first one is about three rows, four seats to the left too far. The next is one section east and caught on the fly with one hand! All right, could even make the highlight reel on a slow sports night. Someone’s five seconds of fame.
Our Velcro couple has decided not to get a room and settled into extreme affection. They are about eight beers into it when my eyes are drawn back to the batter and “he pops one up.”
I look skyward and know immediately that this one is playable, not on the field but right here; section 127. I can’t take my eyes from it; I mentally grasp it’s coming fast and furiously directly at us. As it turns out I’m a little off and become aware that the guy in front is repeating something loudly – but no- one surrounding us is looking anywhere but straight up.
It always seems so slow in retrospect but the real thing is over in an instant. The ball bounces into the hand of macho/velcro lover man ... thwack! And out. Into the hands of an undeserving recipient (he didn’t suffer for it)
No, the one to suffer is, of course, the object of his affections.
It’s her fault, he bellows, she didn’t hold his beer. Didn’t she hear his directive, his plea, he needed her and where was she? Right there frozen in time like the rest of us. Not able to take her eyes off it either, and she didn’t comprehend as he pleaded “hold it hold it hold it!”
His disappointment consumes him and turns to anger. He’s taking it out on her, she tries to comfort him, She is mom offering to make it all better with a kiss. NO NO NO he’ll have none of that. She can’t make it better. It’s gone, so is the love. For now.
I am riveted. I feel the global chill.
He leaves her, there, all alone. He disappears into the crowd. She slumps, she is devastated. She turns looking for solace perhaps support. I give her my best “it will be alright, just give it time” smile.
She ‘s trying to lighten up but she’s not sure, is he coming back? Is it really that important? What happened here? Wow.
He returns a short time later. A little less stressed but not in the loving playful mood of earlier. The cool wind shift is permanent. They speak a few words, but don’t share the affection. The game ends and they stand to go. She turns to me as he walks ahead of her, “Well, he’s not going to divorce me” she jokingly whispers to me.
Oh - married.