Chicago weekend, flying balls and a nice set of athlete hams

So my parents used to bring me to Tigers games as a baby and I don’t remember any of them because I was a baby, duh! As I got older I’ve gone to more and more games, it’s really the only sport I can handle watching because I can totally get down with the pace and Comerica Park serves awesome nachos. Plus, they’re in downtown Detroit and there’s an overall fun and nostalgic feel to spending an evening enjoying America’s pastime in the greatest city in the US.

Anyway, my problem with going to Tigers games is that no matter where I am sitting, I am terrified of getting hit with the ball. Like, I could be in $10 bleacher seats and I’d picture the pop-up that flings the ball at lightning speed right into my face. I check out the people in front of me to see if they appear to have cat-like reflexes and an overall will to jump up and catch the ball, protecting my face from its path. Regardless, I bring a new meaning to the term “keep your eye on the ball” and it never fails that by the time I sit down I already have “Death By Baseball” planned out in my head.

A few years ago my Dad told me a story that conjures up some freaky psychological shit. When I was like a year old I was sitting on his knee at Tigers Stadium (RIP). Out of nowhere one of those scary fast balls flew into the stands, you know the ones that you don’t even see coming and can’t even brace yourself for, and the lady right in front of me put her wrist up to block the ball (THOSE are the cat-like reflexes I’m talkin’ about). It hit her on the forearm and broke her wrist. THAT COULD HAVE BEEN MY FACE. Like, if it wasn’t for her you might not even be reading this blog right now. How hard would that suuuuuuck? Right? I do wonder who that lady is though, and I hope I’ve never cut her off in traffic or yelled at her in Target.

SO ANYWAY. Friday I went down to Chicago with Amanda to meet up with her friend who had some awesome Tigers/Sox tickets at US Cellular Field. We got to our seats, realized we were 6 rows behind home plate (but of course just to the right of the netted area), and as soon as mine and Amanda’s eyes adjusted and we realized we could literally fling boogers at whichever Sox player was at home plate, we looked at each other and said “SHIT. WE ARE SO GONNA DIE.” For some reason it made me feel better that she was equally paranoid because then we could protect each other. Spoiler alert: We live and don’t get hit by any balls (twss).

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About the Author: Becky