Yankee Virgins

My sister and niece are in town this weekend from San Francisco. I stumbled upon some Yankees tickets earlier in the week, and figured this would be a nice way to spend a Friday night with family I haven't seen in a couple of years, as well as the Baton, of course.

Missy is funnier than I am, and if you frequent this blog, you know that's actually not a difficult feat to achieve. Megan is 14, so there's still some innocence there that perhaps might be in danger as we all attend our first Yankees game. But things were going smoothly, both on the field and around our $10 non-alcoholic bleacher section.

Until the sixth inning.

You know how sometimes some people, usually younger guys with beer in hand, will appear out of nowhere in your row midway through a game? They bought the cheapest tickets, then spent the first 90 minutes of the game playing moundball, ogling the players' wives section from afar and scouting better, unused seats?

Four frat-looking boys crept into our row, but what was weird was that our seats were awful. We needed binoculars just to see the people with the binoculars. But into the four seats directly behind us they came, and seemed like they were having an F-bomb contest. Perhaps the conversation went something like this: "Let's go into that row over there and see how many times we can say fuck in front of those people who look like they're enjoying the game."

Other than those jackasses, the game was a good one. The Yankees turned a 3-3 game into a 6-3 lead in the bottom of the eighth inning before turning it over to superstar closer Mariano Rivera, who nearly blew it in the ninth, but eventually nailed it down and allowed us to watch the Yankees faithful celebrate another win at the old ballpark.