Cheesy Quintessence

Today was the first day of the annual Texas tax exemption weekend, meaning all clothes under $100 can be bought without sales tax. While looking for clothes at Wal-Mart, I found a shirt more awesome than anything I’d have ever imagined finding there. Blue with an ancient computer on it, it reads in a computer-like font, “I like it when you talk nerdy.” I will definitely be wearing that one a lot.

But today was more than just shopping for dry goods. While there was no sales tax, I was to be taxed in another way. Today was the day that we were scheduled to go see a baseball game in Round Rock. My father insisted that I, having never experienced a ball game in my life, needed to get to go to one so I could know what it was like. Of course, I brought the cell phone with AIM-GPRS, having only a little knowledge of the traits of the event that I was about to be in…

We arrived at the stadium at approximately 18:20. With tickets for the berm, we had to bring old towels along so that we’d have something other than ground to sit on. We met with our group from the church (who bought us tickets) and sat around waiting for the game to begin at 19:05.

The game began shortly after it was supposed to. Nobody from either the “Round Rock Express” (where we were) or the “San Antonio Missionaries” could even manage to hit the ball. I had never imagined that this would go on for over two hours.

As my father suggested, the majority of the “fun” was not from the baseball game itself. There were all sorts of obnoxious interruptions shown on the big display at the back of the stadium. These included the “Chick-Fil-A Chicken Dance,” the “AT&T Kiss Cam,” and a totally bogus analyzer that encouraged everybody to scream loudly.

While I wasn’t plugging my ears for protection from the racket, I was trying to find somebody who might say a thing or two to me. Nobody was interested in starting a conversation with me, and I don’t like interrupting people. I guess that even when I’m in a very social situation, I’m all alone. Had I not found conversation on AOL Instant Messenger, I’d have probably gone insane.

The game ended at about 21:35. Fireworks exploded over my head and some pieces hit me (but they weren’t hot, luckily). We left as they started shooting fireworks. My father has changed his story, and it’d take a lot to convince him to go to another ball game.

Honestly, I wonder how anybody could enjoy watching a bunch of fools running around in a pasture, chasing a ball that they’ve beaten with a large stick. How is that fun? Why do people enjoy harming their hearing? Why do people enjoy taking the risk of getting an astray baseball slammed into their face? I truly cannot comprehend it.