Go Twins!

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Ever since the Minnesota Twins began playing at their new stadium – the one with the stupid name (not to be confused with the one with the really stupid name or the one with the insanely stupid name) – I’ve wanted to attend a game.

The thing is, though, I hate driving in Minneapolis, especially downtown, and I hate finding and paying for parking even more. I also wanted to go with someone because, you know, attending ball games is kind of a social activity. I was also hoping someone else would be more comfortable going through the trouble of purchasing the tickets and locating our seats and all that extranneous stuff that goes along with attending a game.

So, I’ve asked around. Anytime someone told me they had season tickets, I’d say, “Hey, I’d like to go with you sometime.” And anytime I saw people frequently posting pictures online of themselves at the Twins’ Stadium, I’d ask, “Hey, next time you go, can I join you?” And if I knew people who got discount tickets from their employer, I’d subtely hint that I’d like to get in on that discount ticket action.

Alas, it turns out that my son and I must be the two worst people to bring with to a ballgame because, after two seasons of trying, we received exactly zero invites.

So I decided to be a little bit more proactive.

I’ll spare you the details, but today, accompanied by my friend Eric and his two sons, Owen and I finally attended a game at the new Twins stadium. This was Owen’s first time attending any professional sporting event. Our seats were high up, but the view was good, and we stayed warm under a blanket and fleece jackets Eric brought for us (see why I don’t want to go alone?). I bought Owen a cup of hot chocolate then, recovering from the shock of paying for that hot chocolate, I bought him some fries and pop-corn. I also let him pick out a souvenir from the gift shop (thankfully he did not opt for the autographed jersey). Eric got all the boys a set of baseball cards, too.

I also bought Owen an official scorecard. I helped him fill in the players’ names and showed him where to find the players’ positions and numbers. I tried figuring out how to accurately track the hits, runs, balls, strikes, and outs; but I am a nerd, after all, and so we contented ourselves with merely writing down the score after each inning.

And, for several innings, the only thing Owen wrote down were zeroes. During the sixth inning, he got to write down a “1,” but that was for the visiting team. In the seventh inning, he got to write down another “1.” Again, it was for the opposing team. I guess they’re not called the “Athletics” for nothing.

Owen kept shouting “You guys can do it!” whenver a Twin was at bat and “You did a good job!” whenever they got a player from Oakland out. He asked me about 50 times, “Do they still have a chance to win?” Yes, I assured him, they have a chance to win, but it’s not a very big chance. When a Twin got on base and the crowd cheered, Owen asked if they scored a point. Or a touchdown. Whatever it’s called.

In the meantime, I tried to keep him happy with other fun aspects of attending a ball game: I pointed out the clock, and Owen enjoyed seeing how far past his bedtime it was. When they played that one tune, I told Owen to pump his fist forward and say “Charge!” and when they played those three beats from “We Will Rock You,” I showed Owen how to stomp his feet twice, then clap once. And when they played the opening bars to John Fogerty’s “Centerfield…” um…I just thought, “Hey, that’s John Fogerty’s ‘Centerfield!'”

We shouted and whistled for our team and, during the 7th inning, we stood up, I put my hand on Owen’s shoulder, and we swayed and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

Eventually, during a scoreless 8th inning, Eric said his sons were tired, and he and his kids left. I asked Owen if he was tired, but that’s a little like asking me if I’m sick of drinking tea. So we stayed. The sky was black, and the air was cold. We sat in our seats huddled under our blanket. I put my arm around Owen, more to keep us warm than to assure him that we can still have a good time even if our team stinks. We waited out the inevitable for the next 45 minutes.

When the Twins received their first out, then their second, I silently bemoaned their performance: I had not entertained any notion that they would win but – come on! – couldn’t you guys at least score one run so my son doesn’t have to write his ninth zero in a row?

“Do they still have a chance to win?” he asked.

I chuckled. “Yeah, they do. This is their last chance, though. The guy at third base has to run home, and at least one other player has to run home, too.”

“And then they will win?”

“No. Then they’ll tie it. And then they’ll get more chances to win.” Owen slumped.

Just as I was explaining our team’s gloomy prospects, Josh Willingham connected with the ball. “Wow,” I said, commenting on the loud pop of the bat. Then I sat up. Owen was looking at his scorecard, but I quickly nudged him back to the action: “Look Owen, look! The ball’s going way up! That guy on third base will get home!”

“Yay!”

“Let’s stand up, come on, everyone else is standing!” Then I pointed at the arcing ball. “Loook! Look – it’s going way way over there. Oh, wow, look how far it’s going!”

Owen laughed. “Yay! Good job you guys! I knew you could do it!”

We threw off our blanket and started cheering and jumping up and down. “Where did the ball go?” Owen shouted above the crowd. 

“It went way over there, past the fence, the other guys can’t even get it! The Twins are gonna win, buddy! They’re gonna win!”

We shifted our gazes and watched the remaining two runners round the bases to home and we laughed as the team mobbed their teammates at home plate. Owen was cheering and giggling with delight. After three and a half hours, those ten seconds were the best part of being a dad all evening. I handed Owen the pencil he dropped and showed him where to write a “3.”

As we boarded the escalators to descend from our upperdeck, Owen said, “See? That’s why we had to stay the whole time! I told you we had to stay the whole time!”

“Yes, buddy, you were right.” I patted his head. The nearby usher smiled.

A boy and his dad – apparently the last two people you would ever want to bring with you to a Twins game. 

Thank you Josh and the other Twins for a great evening. And thank you Owen. Go Twins!