Strike one.
Japanese import Kenta Maeda was on the mound for the Dodgers so there were large groups of Japanese walking up and down the aisles with the men mostly wearing suits and ties and the women looking “smart for the office.” At one point a tiny Japanese girl walks by and spilled a hotdog right into my lap. My leg is now completely covered in mustard and relish. She apologized profusely in scant English and I felt really terrible for her. I told her everything was ok and went to clean myself off in the bathroom.
Strike two.
The Dodgers can’t do a darn thing and eventually lose 5-1.
Strike 3.
It was fun watching the drunk guy in front of me entertain the crowd with some well-timed jokes, “Angels suck” chants and profuse booing of Albert Pujols. His wife cackled at every spectacle. A girl a few seats behind me vomited everywhere. My girlfriend was trying to get center fielder Joc Pederson to wave at her which he eventually did. She was smitten, and he just might be one of her new favorite Dodgers. (She’s a Dodgers fan.) I’ve always been a bleacher-creature kind of guy and the free food thrown in made this a really fun, yet grimy game. We got home around 11 o’ clock and I immediately threw my clothes in the washing machine.
Opening day is on Monday. Let’s go Oakland!