God Bless the Ballgame

My family and I went to a Norfolk Tides game on Sunday for Father’s Day. My mom and I are waiting outside the gate while my dad and Steve park the car. The national anthem is playing. Now, in Baltimore and in areas where Orioles fans are congregated, when the national anthem is played, towards the end at “O say does that star-spangled…,” everyone shouts “O!” Since Norfolk and Virginia Beach are historically Orioles territory, and since I have heard this done at numerous Tides games before, I do it.

I am the only one in the line who does it. I get evil-looking glares from everyone.

I guess they’re all Yankee fans.

…

Throughout the game, the P.A. announcer would say a seat number, and the lucky fan sitting in that seat would win a truly incredible prize. And what would that prize be, you ask?

Mayonnaise. A giant tub of fucking mayonnaise.

As the game went on, and more jars of mayonnaise were given away, the game became secondary to me. On this hot summer day, nothing would make me feel better than opening a tub of mayo, grabbing a spoon, and filling my stomach with creamy mayo goodness.

Nevermind that the mayonnaise would likely spoil after sitting in 95 degree heat all day. Don’t dwell on the fact that mayo ranks very high on the list of “things not to eat in high quantities in one sitting.” Disregard my preference for mustard. I wanted that mayonnaise. I needed it. And it needed me. I only hoped I would hear “section 115, row K, seat 15″ before game’s end. After all, it’s all about winning, and if the reward for winning is mayonnaise, then I only hope my arteries will be choking on sweet, creamy victory.

…

“I really hope I win that mayonnaise, Steve,” I said to my brother.

“Shut up.”

I didn’t mind that he didn’t share the same passion for winning and mayonnaise that I had. I suppose he just doesn’t have it in him. Or, he doesn’t care for mayo. I figured then that if somehow, by some cruel manipulation of the world’s strings, that Steve’s seat was called, perhaps he would give me the tub of mayonnaise.

“Hey, if you won the mayo, do you think you’d give it to me?”

“Hell no. Get your own mayonnaise.”

Aw, shucks.

…

It was the 4th or 5th inning. A Tides player hit a home run, and since it was the special inning (I guess), everyone who attended the game was entitled to a free gallon of windshield wiper fluid at their local auto parts store.

This can only be a sign, I thought. Windshield wiper fluid would go great with my mayonnaise!

I went to the concession stand to get a burger and water.

“Excuse me, good sir, but where are the condiments for what I am sure is to be a juicy, delicious burger?”

“Ketchupmustardmayo’s on yer right,” replied the attendant.

“Oh, I won’t be needing mayonnaise. I expect my seat to be called any moment now for a FREE TUB OF MAYONNAISE.”

“Whatever kid.”

…

J.R. House plays for the Norfolk Tides. Every time J.R. House comes to bat, a Phil Collins song plays. In fact, every Tides player has their own theme music for their at-bats. But only J.R. House would pick something terrible like Phil Collins as his theme music. It’s a total buzzkill. It’s like saying, “hey pitcher, easy out coming up.”

I tell this to Steve, and he agrees.

I say, “man, if I were good at baseball–”

“You’re not good at baseball.”

“I know, but hypothetically speaking–

“You’re not good at baseball.”

“Fine, OK, but having theme music for a plate appearance is like pro wrestling. You know, I’d have Hulk Hogan’s theme music if I played baseball.”

Steve laughed. “Every time you come to the plate, you rip your jersey in two.”

“And then get plunked in the face on the first pitch.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your equipment manager wouldn’t be happy either.”

…

7th inning stretch. Everyone stands and sings along as God Bless America is played. It’s become a new baseball tradition, ever since the Yankees started it at their home games after 9/11.

I don’t know the words to God Bless America.

I hum along, and sing a few words that I kinda remembered: “stand beside her….hmm hmm…o’er the mountains….hmmm…my home sweet home.” I think that’s it.

Then, Take Me Out to the Ballgame plays. I sing every word, loudly. “Take, me out to the ballllllgame, take, me out with the crowwwwwd…” and so on and so forth.

I come to the realization that I don’t know the words to God Bless America, yet I know every single word to Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

“I don’t know God Bless America, but I do know Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Does that make me un-American?”

Steve thinks. “Well, baseball’s distinctly American, so that counts for something.” Pause. “I guess that makes you half-American, or semi-American.”

We sit in silence for a minute, watching as the players take the field.

“Man, I hope I win some mayonnaise.”

“Nevermind, you’re un-American.”

…

Alas, the 9th inning came and went, and no mayo was to be had. Mom and dad headed out another gate, and Steve and I headed out the third base side. I expressed my disappointment at not winning the ultimate prize, my mayonnaise.

“Maybe next time,” Steve said sarcastically.

Oh, what a disappointing day. I wasn’t looking forward to going home alone and mayo-less. I suppose that life disappoints every once in a while, and you just have to deal with it when it comes.

We approached the gate. Hardly anyone comes out this way–either people don’t know its there or no one parks near that exit. As we walk out, an old man dressed as an usher approaches. He has a twinkle in his blue eyes and the look of an old baseball player. It’s hard to describe exactly what it looks like–it’s more of an intuitive sense. I saw him, and immediately my brain registers “old ballplayer.”

“Hey kid, why the long face?”

I assumed he was talking to me. “Well, Mister, I was hoping to win one of those big jars of mayonnaise today, and well…”

My eyes begin to well up and my lip quivers.

The old usher’s eyes glow with pity and empathy, and a second later, joy.

“Oh, don’t cry little buddy. Why I’ve got some mayo for ya right here.”

To my sheer amazement, he hands me three big packs of mayonnaise. My eyes grow tall as I gasp.

“Wow! You’re the greatest! Thanks a lot, Mister!”

“Don’t mention it kid,” he says cool and nonchalantly, like a ballplayer.

Steve and I turn around and begin toward the exit again. I’m beginning to think of things to tell Steve about my ultimate victory today in my quest for mayonnaise when I turn around to tell the usher one last thing.

“Golly, Mister, I’m gonna tell my mom to make a sandwich for me right–” and when I turned around, he was gone.

There was no sign of him anywhere.

We walked to the car silently and went home.