I went to my first little league baseball game over here in Mexico this weekend. Actually this would be the first baseball game I've attended since I was . . . little league age. I've never been into sports and I wasn't expecting much from this, just supporting the family. Things were different for me somehow though and I found myself getting . . . into it.
The opposing team was supposed to be the best in the league and our team only on it's 3rd game ever played. The family told us that we were to go into the game expecting to lose and that they were chalking the whole thing up to a "learning experience" for the kids.
Of the other team -
"Puro Pinches! They're supposed to be the best? All they do is ball after ball, walk after walk. What kind of playing is that? At least our team has the balls to SWING once in a while! Grow some real balls you little punks! CHEATERS! NO wonder you win every game!"
That was me and it's a good damn thing nobody there spoke english. Our team hadn't yet learned the fine art of not swinging at every-single-pitch thrown to them, while the other team wouldn't swing if they're life depended on it. SO the batting went a little something like - Strike out. Strike out. Strike out. -Switch- Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk, score. Walk, score. Walk score. On and on till our team managed to get 3 outs on bases. Eeesh.
Thank God they only go 4 innings because by the 3rd people started getting pretty quiet and just staring at the score board going up up up only on one side. EXCEPT for the dick face other teams cheering section who sang song after clapping bastard song caught up in the excitement that they were grounding our poor boys into the dirt. Dildos, not cool. I increased my swearing and was so inspired by everything that I finally got the hang of it in Spanish. All it took was some piss-me-off children's baseball to teach me the adjective-noun placement rule once and for all. Things click when it's important to get it right.
I guess having family playing in the game changed something for me. I couldn't care less to watch it on t.v. but you put my 7 and 8 year old nephews in short pants and I'm a rabid fan. Who knew?
Ah well, the boys came out looking haggard and beat down but we all smiled and clapped them on the back and told them how wonderful they did anyways. Chino and I were sitting at the far end of the family and nobody heard me going bat-shit during the game so all was well.
Next week? Next week I'm bringing signs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to practice my Spanish, I've found a new reason to want to learn.