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soft hands.

charm city

9.12.2004
- our hotel was really lovely, on the inner harbor. baltimore's not my favorite city ever, but we were in a pretty, touristcentric area. and we had perfect baseball weather.

- camden yards is very nice, but of course, atmosphere-wise, i prefer the stadium. camden yards does have YS beat in the refreshment department: hot dogs are twice the size of the stadium's at the same price, and they don't make you wrestle with a dinky mustard packet; instead, they put it on for you. it's the little things, you know? oh, there's also guinness, harp, smithwick's, and a variety of microbrews on tap to drown your sorrows in.

- yankee fans EVERYWHERE. the place was crawling with them. us. disturbingly, i heard more than one wee o's fan yelling YANKEES SUCK.

- the bunt single that never rolled foul, jeter pulling his foot back like he wanted to punt it over the line.

- the javy meltdown. ("is this still the third inning? this can't still be the third inning.") something has to be seriously mechanically wrong with this kid, or perhaps the clydesdale horse has turned into a shetland pony? he was drowning out there. no outing by a yankee pitcher has made me feel so handwringingly miserable since contreras got the boot. not even loaiza: estebomb doesn't get my hopes up in the first place. my brother, as torre took the long walk to the mound: "put me in! i can throw strikes!"

- what followed the javy implosion was like a brutal rollcall of pitchers i didn't want to ever see: nitkowski, loaiza, heredia. by the time steve karsay came out, i was too disappointed to care. the offense made a valiant (though they aren't entirely absolved, having left 9 men on base. 9!) effort to crawl out of the hole created by the horrific pitching, but to no avail.

- guinness salesguy: "how you guys doing?"
my father: "we'd be better if your team was losing."
guinness guy, aghast: "they're not my team! i just work here!"
me, smelling a rat: "no? who is your team?"
guy, avoiding my eyes: "you uh. you probably hate them more than you hate the orioles."
me: "i don't hate the orioles... wait. [wrinkling my nose in distaste] red sox?"
guy: "hey, i'm from boston!"
me, opting for the magnanimity only sweet inebriation can bring: "honey, we don't hate anybody." why offend the beer guy, albeit a boston apologist?

- my brothers shaking tom gordon's hand in the hotel bar after the game, these normally blase guys coming back grinning like little starstruck kids.

- sitting out in front of the hotel, watching the groupies go by:
my brother, flexing his throwing arm: "OH MAN IS MY ARM TIRED!"
groupies: "teehee! nice try!"
my brother: "what! i'm in triple a!"

alternately

"HEY! THERE'S CHUCK KNOBLAUCH!"

- on our way out to breakfast, my mom spotted roy white hanging out in the lobby:
my mom to some guy in a rivera jersey: "roy white's in the lobby!"
guy: "who?"
mom: "roy white!!!!!"
guy, to my dad: "who?"
dad: "first base coach."
guy, smiling politely: "oh. roy white."
mom, to us: "ROY WHITE!"
me: "not everyone was glued to their couch in 1978."
mom: "shut up!"

- at the risk of sounding crude, god bless my dad's you-could-set-your-watch-by-it need to use the men's facilities. we were milling around the lobby waiting for him, and who goes into the men's room but ruben sierra. paul quantrill walks by drinking coffee. derek too-cool-for-school jeter strolling out of the elevator. yawn!

- we were going to leave after that, but the yankee bus was talking up most of the alley in front of our parking garage, so what's a hooligan family to do except mill around with all the other fame vultures? esteban loaiza signing for everyone who wanted:
my mom: "who's that?"
me: "esteban loaiza, we saw him pitch last night."
my jackass brother: "IT'S ALRIGHT ESTEBAN, YOU'LL GET IT TOGETHER SOON!"
ma: "do you want his autograph? he's signing for everybody!"
me: "i don't want it. he's awful." sorry esteban.

- another derek i'm-a-rockstar jeter sighting. no, i didn't take the picture, i was busy making myself inconspicuous behind a pillar. this girl near me was shrieking: OMG JETER TOUCHED MY PEN OMG. i wanted to turn around and say OMG I'M GOING TO BITCHSLAP YOU OMG.


1:35 PM :: ::
8 Comments:
  • you serious about the groupie thing? hahah.

    By Blogger Alex, at 2:29 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • completely serious. they were kinda eyeing my brothers and then of course kevin had to open his big sarcastic mouth and scared them away, which prompted him to go on a diatribe about not understanding why girls will fuck a guy, any guy, based solely on the fact that he's a baseball player. i was all "i understand your point but admit it - you're jealous. keep playing ball and maybe one day the bitches'll be after you!" :D

    By Blogger lupe_velez, at 2:44 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • OMG!!! Your brothers are too funny! I love your family, LOL

    By Blogger Shannon, at 5:52 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • SEE. YOU SHOULD HAVE COME TO CLEVELAND.

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 6:11 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • i forgot one of the best moments: my shameless dad met us down in the lobby before the game and said, very loudly: HEY YOU GUYS MISSED IT, WHORE-GAY POSADA'S KID WAS RUNNING AROUND. the look on my face must have been priceless.

    By Blogger lupe_velez, at 6:12 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • JOEL I WILL COME TO CLEVELAND WHEN MY BALLPARK ROADFEST EXTRAVAGANZA PLANS COME TO FRUITION. THAT IS, WHEN I HIT THE LOTTERY.

    By Blogger lupe_velez, at 6:13 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • PFFT. IT CANT COST MORE THAN $50 TO GET HERE. I BUY YOU GOOD TICKET!

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 6:22 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
  • I DONT THINK I EVEN HAVE $50

    By Blogger lupe_velez, at 6:48 PM   <$BlogItemControl$>
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