One of the great disadvantages to living so far from home is being a sports fan deep in enemy territory. You're out of synch with the people around you and that can be a lonely feeling. When your hometown team's rookie wide receiver or rookie running back runs like a goddamn gazelle with its ass on fire through the defense of the team representing your temporary home, you will hardly find a sympathetic ear for your cries of triumphant joy. You simply become That Guy, i.e. the out-of-towner who shatters the "my team is actually superior to yours despite the fact I only cheer for this team because of where I was raised." Noone wants to become That Guy.
Your love for that which has mattered to you since you were old enough to sit with your dad in front of the TV or pick up and read the sports page becomes a chaste love. Like a war widow, you follow the travails and victories of your chosen via dispatches and report. It is a quiet place where you live and it is a quiet fandom you follow. Until the day your beloved visits you in your far off temporary home. Then it's on like Donkey Kong.
Last summer I had a co-worker who bought season tickets in the upper deck at Comiskey. Since they're a family with small kids, they put more than a few of the tickets up for sale and I snatched up the Twins games. Not a few here and there. All of them. I saw a lot of live baseball last summer between the Twins-Sox games and on two occasions ending up with the company seats at Wrigley.
This summer that same co-worker is now pregnant and not a season-ticket holder, I decided it was well worth it to just splurge on a pair of good seats for one game and not need to force my baseball addiction upon those I love. I am also eyeing a trip up to Milwaukee in June for the Twins-Brewers games, especially now that I know the gals from Yeah Buddy! are planning to make the sojourn. But let me digress.
An evening trip to Comiskey Park in April requires a little bit of planning ahead. All White Sox night games begin at 7:11 (and, yes, it's for that reason). This means the sun is going down as you enter the park and most if not all of the game will be played under cover of night. Since it's an outdoor ballpark, you will need to wear your winter jacket and plan on bringing a blanket for your legs. I hope these are the nights all of the proponents of an outdoor stadium in Minneapolis decide to mosey on down behind the Target Center. The elements are cold and cutting this time of year which made the crowd thin and sparse in even the most relatively dense sections.
The main question I had attire-wise was whether I should wear my authentic Johan Santana jersey. It was going to be either underneath my workshirt (where it had been all day) providing me warmth or it would be out in the open drawing the ire of White Sox fans around me. I was already wearing a Twins jacket and I already almost died once this week and figured I'd push my luck. One of my first trips to Comiskey in 2006 involved another Twins-attired fan seeing my jersey and giving me daps and I wanted to feel that fanly comraderie again, briefly no longer stuck on an island. Susie got to the park a little after me and we settled in for the game.
The Twins came out of the gate like a shot. The White Sox starter John Danks looked shaky from ball one through four to Carlos Gomez. Gomez got picked off but Danks didn't settle down. Brendan Harris singled to right, Mauer singled to left, Morneau walked and Delmon Young singled in Harris. Then strode to the plate the once and future king of the franchises' potential, Jason Kubel. He only flew a sacrifice fly out to Nick Swisher in centerfield driving home Mauer. But, like the clockwork of baseball's inner narratives, the scene was set.
Let's fast forward through some solid pitching by Yeah Buddy!-endorsed Scott Baker and some equally shaky pitching by Danks to the top of the third inning. Harris singled to center, Mauer went monkey-see, monkey-do to left and Morneau also went to left to make it three in a row. Young struck out swinging and again the Twins needed Kubel to come through with men on base. A lot of sweat and perspiration is expended in baseball thinking about the top of the batting order which is probably justified since those batters hit most often in a game. Still it's the teams who can drive men in with their sixth through ninth hitters who really excell. There bestrode Kubel to break the levee and let loose the vaunted Big Inning. He only singled to right scoring Harris. But Danks was shaken and, after a bases-loaded walk of Craig Monroe, he was pulled for Nick Massett. Add on a Mike Lamb single scoring Morneau and a Carlos Gomez double scoring Monroe and Lamb and the Twins had batted around to a 7-0 lead.
When Susie and I were settling at the beginning of the game, some White Sox fans with beers in their hands sat down in front of us. Who knows if those were their actual seats but it was were they were going to sit. Not to say that all White Sox fans are like this but these guys lived up to the cliche. So when Nick Swisher hit a solo homer with two outs in the bottom of the inning, the most rowdy of them made sure to pop up out of his seat to give me a high five. Way to follow the game, Ramanujan. I made sure to share a running-"How many runs ARE still you behind?" tab with him as Paul Konerko and Joe Crede hit solo homeruns in each of the next two innings.
The top of the sixth began with Gomez grounding out to short. Harris doubled to center, Mauer advanced him to third on a fielder's choice, Morneau took his base on an intentional walk and Young watched a fourth ball on a 3-2 count to load the bases. Guess who came to the plate. It was our man, Jason Kubel. You can probably guess what happened next. I'd held out sending texts to my White Sox fan friend Dave during the early run-batting-in extravaganzas. This warranted a "Put it on the board. YES!"
The evening was getting late by now and I was starting to lose feeling in my toes. During the seventh inning stretch, Susie and I decided to bug out and take the long train-ride home. I gave some high fives to fellow Twins fans on the way out, Susie took a picture of me to represent Danks' performance and then I talked about the emerging greatness of Mr. Kubel with some fellow fans on the train. All told I don't know how the evening could've gone any better.
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