Big Win

I'll preface this post by admitting that for most of my life I a.) hated sports, both playing and watching them; b.) suck at playing any sport; and c.) knew about 2 professional athletes by name.

For whatever reason, that all changed the year the Tampa Bay Rays made it to the World Series. I just clung on to them---the players are all young, (seemingly) wholesome, so eager to win, and extremely likeable. Husband even has a man crush on one of them. So I learned all of their names, the funny little things each of them does while pitching or hitting, and I started loving the game of baseball. It helped tremendously that the Rays team has a strong commitment to community service and actively raises money for and participates in charitable service all over our bay area.

Going to baseball games has become an activity everyone in the fam can enjoy.  Last night we had a blast at our first game of the season, and the boys made us proud with a 9-3 win.

Aren't they adorable? From left: Evan Longoria, Jason Bartlett, Ben Zobrist and Carlos Pena
Oh yes, they also kick serious behind out on the field.

Loved watching catcher Jaso enjoy an interview after the game...especially when he was decked with a ginormous whipped creme pie.

When they win, the Tropicana Dome is lit up orange as a signal of victory.

Here's a shot of that from the inside, while we enjoyed an awesome post-game show from legendary rocker John Fogerty.

And yes, he TOTALLY rocked. He's turning 65 this week, and who would know? His voice, his energy and mastery of the guitar were all impressive in this live show beyond what I could have imagined. He sang basically every Creedence Clearwater Revival hit, left us all wanting more and knowing we witnessed someone who deserved the Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame designation for his band in 1993.


Guess what D-Man was doing during much of the game and the show afterward...

Good grief, someone save me.

Confessions of a New Baseball Mom...No, Don't Call Me That

Saturday was D-man's first game at GT Bray, and I wasn't exactly prepared for a few things. But I'm told that eventually, it will become part of the routine and I'll become just as complacent as the rest of them about...

• Being a baseball mom? Don't ever call me that or you're going down.
  I have a son who plays baseball and I support him and the team. You may think it's bizarre that I resent being referred to as "a [fill in the blank with any sport] mom." I don't quite understand it myself. Does this have anything to do with Sarah Palin? I don't know. But I don't like it.
  
• The fact that sometimes, every kid on the opposing team has a good 30 pounds and 2 feet in excess of our boys.
  With each pitcher/batter face off, I felt like we were witnessing Andre the Giant take on Paul from the Wonder Years. I was scared.
  
• Holy crap. There's a kid on our team with facial hair.
  (Yeah, he's the only one who could disguise himself as a player on the other team and get away with it). It must not be too much longer until "things" start happening here at our house.
  
• There is a click of loud and foul-mouthed women who congregate next to the bleachers yelling at one another in thick Brooklyn accents.
  Don't look at them too long, or you'll start to wonder if they'll be waiting for you in the parking lot.
  
• And finally, toting along some reading material might not be a bad idea (although if it's not a National Inquirer, the loud and foul-mouthed women will have one more reason to hate you).
  We endured a 45 minute inning, which is apparently not unusual.

If I could only hear some of the conversations emanating from said spectator-parents, I would have an abundance of free and potentially juicy Gropius material. Tuesday evening, I go on alert with a special listening device. Until then, have a good week, peeps.

My Life Is About to Change...

Yes, folks, very soon my entire life will revolve around baseball. We have just signed up D-Man to play on the Fall team. The practices, games and coach talk will most likely consume the time our family spends on work, bitching about work, volunteer stuff and wrangling with annoying teachers who refer us to websites instead of returning our calls and e-mails.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for the young man and have to smile at the time he spent wandering around the house last weekend wearing batting gloves and his helmet while swinging ONE of the new bats...thankfully not breaking any windows or picture frames.

But it's not quite the same as it used to be--as in, a check for $25 to get on the team and buy in to the equipment. The current $125 registration fee covers a t-shirt and ball cap. You get to buy a bat, baseball glove, pants, batting gloves, shoes and bag to put all of the stuff in. We're $300 into it and haven't purchased the shoes yet.

Sweet Peter, I hope this isn't like the guitar--the allure of saying you play it or do it is soooo much more attractive than the work you have to put into it. Once there's a realization of required effort, it's bye bye birdie. We've been there before.

Once I tried to take up knitting. After buying the nerdy supplies and trying for several hours, I was like, Christ, it's totally okay that I buy clothes and blankets. Thank goodness my investment hovered around $17.

Young People, Old People...Come on Out

Disclaimer: Even if you do not have the slightest interest in baseball, you may enjoy this post.


Since my newly found love for baseball (and most specifically the Rays) has emerged, I've spent a great deal of time trying to convince friends they should come with me to the games. Friends who finally say, "Jesus! It's just not my thing" or "Watching baseball is like watching paint dry." Ok, ok, I get it. And I totally respect that.

It's just that... (yes, I'm still trying)...they make it so entertaining once you're there. I have to give it up for the set of event planners who are lining up the exciting "extras" of every home game, like last night's sci-fi theme, where you can see storm troopers dancing to the Beastie Boys.
And the ongoing race between Sierra Mist, some cola and a water that looks like milk. (One day a 40 of King Cobra will be included.)

And the very rocking B-52's. I realized what I like so much about them, other than the "different factor," which I'm always game for. It's the fact that they're so darn organic in sound and movement. They just look like they're having the times of their lives and couldn't give a damn, Scarlett, whether they're playing for 10 people or 1 million. Great energy there. I would definitely go to see them as a solo act.

Which brings us to the team. Seriously, these are some adorable and talented boys. For the first time, I really understand how it feels to want a team to win.

...Just like the pubescent boy sitting to the immediate left of us who was over-anxious to try out his deepening voice over and over and over again.

So here's a morning simulation for you. Pretend like you're emitting a low, raspy growl. Now try to talk in that fashion. Now pump up your volume, as if you're trying to communicate with a neighbor...in Arcadia. Now keep doing it for 4 hours. And bang some seats around. You get it. It was amusing if anything.

But the long and short of it for me: it's especially nice to see young people, old people and everything in between elevated by the same entertainment, which is simply good, clean fun. Come on out to the ball game people. You'll have a good time. And Gropius is receiving no compensation for this little viral endorsement. Promise.

A Little Rays Refreshment

What can I say about the week? It's been a long one. Long meaning "really good" and long meaning "tiring" and long meaning "when the hell is the weekend?" Saturday is here and I have a grand assortment of cleaning, laundry, errands, back to school shopping, work-work, and other mundane but essential tasks.

But tonight, I'm making the trek with PLRH to the Rays game. A girls' nite.

Last night I ended up with a pomegranate martini (highly recommended, and for only $3, how can you lose?) and spinach/shroom/cheese dip after getting shut out of the tiny sold-out theatre Lakewood Ranch set up for Julie and Julia. Sitting outside at McAllister's within 10 feet of the sports memorabilia store, D-Man couldn't resist a walk down there.

The result: the big birthday money purchase-- a Jason Bartlett autographed baseball. Gotta give it to him, he held on to the cash for nearly 2 weeks. Two years ago, I would have thought the ball a ridiculous waste of money, but today I'm a changed girl. Would you hold it against me if I told you that I was even contemplating a personal purchase of a signed and framed Pena photo? It would look soooo nice in the office.

After tonight's game: the post concert with the B-52's. There's Love Shack, and um, you know, some other songs. Like... I'll have to get back to you on that. I honestly can't figure out what it is I love so much about them, since I can't think of another B-52's tune, even if I meditate for half an hour. Maybe it's just the freshness and out of the boxness (a Gropius invented word) they exhibit while still staying clean. Should be fun.

Although I'm not totally digging the "sci-fi" theme that's also part of this evening, it will most certainly make for interesting photos on the old blog tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Dear Rays, You Rock.

Never in my 33 years have I been excited enough about men in uniforms playing a game to talk about it...(just between you and me, or to even really enjoy watching it).

Here are the sports stars I know: Michael Jordon, ... Yeah. Michael Jordon is one.

But all that has changed. It began last year with my first trip to see the Rays. It's such a young, likable team. At the end of the regular season, I surprised everyone by staying up later than even husband on the playoff nights to see them win. My Rays interest was even strong enough to bridge into another season, and yesterday we had a great time at Tropicana Field with PLRH and her family watching them take down The Twins. I can say, with pride, that I can actually correctly recite the names of most players with accuracy. Another Gropius first.

I must admit that one of the only drawbacks to being there live (and up on the 3rd deck) was that the distance did not allow us to watch pitcher Balfour talking to himself. Major upset.

We wanted to share a bit of our baseball experience with you, like some interesting Longoria poses for all you ladies out there.

And how about answering a few questions if you know the answers. What's the deal with people still wearing the stickers on their new hats? I thought that died. I am incredibly curious about the butt slapping. It's a long lived tradition, but what--or who--started that? BJ Upton carries out the task with more excitement than running the bases.

My favorite player? Of course it's Pena. Adorable, charitable and always kind enough to sign an autograph.