Ball Park Hot Dogs

"An onion can make people cry,

but there has never been a vegetable invented 

to make them laugh."

-- Will Rogers

Me and Onion at the ballpark 9-25-14

I went to my final Indians game of the 2014 season last night.

Thanks to me being their lucky charm and them always winning when I'm in the park, the Tribe beat the Royals 6 to 4.

You're welcome.

That was all well and good, but the really good part was that we got to the stadium good and early and had time to wander around before the game. As I was strolling down the concourse, who should I see coming my way?

Onion! My favorite stadium mascot.

Me and Mustard 

There are three hot dog mascots at Progressive Field: Onion, Mustard and Ketchup. Onion is clearly the best mascot, and here's why.

"Mustard" is yellow.

Duh, right? Mustard is supposed to be yellow.

Well not in Cleveland.

Every baseball fan in C-Town knows that real stadium mustard is brown. Therefore, any self-respecting hot dog costume representing the Tribe in a Cleveland ball park should be embarrassed to wear a weak yellow squiggle on its chest.

Any real Cleveland stadium hot dog costume should look like it's slathered in runny brown baby shit.

Until that happens, I just can't get behind Mustard. On principle. I just can't.

Me and Ketchup 

As for "Ketchup."

I reject Ketchup on so many levels. But mostly because ketchup is just so fucking obvious.

Ketchup is the child's choice.

Plus, everyone knows that even salsa has passed ketchup as America's favorite condiment. So this hot dog shouldn't even be in the race anymore. He's a little passe.

Sure, the hipster glasses are sorta cute. But are they enough? I think not.

Maybe if Ketchup's wardrobe handlers spiced up his costume a little bit with some chunks of jalapeno, cilantro and onion, then maybe I could get behind him.

As is? Kinda lame.

But Onion?

Oh, Onion! Why do I love Onion? Let me count the ways:

A: She's the only girl. So, points.

B: She clearly has the best wardrobe. Jesus. That chopped onion bustier alone. Points. Plus the Chief Wahoo mini. More points. Her onion curls? Points again.

The other hot dogs don't even have pants. Which, ew. No pants, no points.

C: She knows how to accessorize. Earrings and a hot pink purse? Points. Points. The other guys have ball caps, but who the fuck doesn't have a ball cap at the ball game? That's not even trying.

And not to beat a dead horse, but Mustard's hat is yellow. Yellow isn't even an Indians team color. At. All.

D: Her Amy Winehouse mascara and Nicole Kidman lips. Who but Onion could make those two things work flawlessly on one face? Points.

Sadly, Onion didn't cross the finish line first in last night's hot dog derby. I guess she was running on fumes.

Which is another reason Onion is the best mascot.

Because despite last night's win, the Tribe's post-season hopes are running on fumes as well.

But hope on fumes is better than no hope at all.

Just ask Onion.




*photo credits go to my husband for being super awesome and taking me out to the ballpark!

A Doubleheader

"We've got the setting -- 

sunshine, fresh air, the team behind us.

So let's play two!"

-- Ernie Banks, 

National Baseball Hall of Fame induction speech, 1977

Baseballs in cycling and batting helmets 9-12-14

"I love doubleheaders. 

That way I get to keep my uniform on longer."

-- Tommy Lasorda

They say two heads are better than one.

I couldn't agree more.

Take yesterday, for instance.

The Indians were scheduled to play a doubleheader against the Twins to make up for their Wednesday night rain-out.

And I was out on my bicycle.

The first pitch of the first game was at noon, which is right in the middle of my daily ride.

But ...

Clever fan that I am, I tuned the game in on my iPod and pedaled happily along while I listened to Tom Hamilton and Jim Rosenhaus call the play by play.

The weather was still pretty dismal and gloomy, but inside my head it was all sunshine and summer. And, I had the best seat in the house.

I'm not usually much of a multi-tasker, but I had this one nailed, doing two of my favorite things at once.

After I got home and showered, the second game of the doubleheader came on, and I got to do it all over again. Except this time, instead of riding while I listened, I ate lunch, did some laundry, and made today's photograph celebrating the day's good turn of events.

In an even better turn of events, our boys swept the doubleheader, beating Minnesota in back-to-back games.

Go Tribe!

The Power Of The Rally Cap

"Indians erupt late to cruise past Yankees in finale."

-- Indians.com

Self portrait 7-11-14

All I'm saying is, before I put my rally cap on last night, the Indians were down 3-0 to the Yankees and the game was flat-lining after six scoreless Tribe innings.

Immediately after I put my rally cap on, Cleveland scored 9 runs in the 7th and 8th innings and the Yankees didn't score any more all night.

After rookie catcher Roberto Perez slammed his first big league homer in his first big league appearance, the guys in the row behind me said I should wear my rally cap to every game.

No shit.

In a post game interview, Indians DH Nick Swisher said "Regardless of what's happening early in the game, it kind of seems like we always find a way to fight ourselves back into a game."

That's right, Swish. You found a way alright.

I proudly take full credit for the win. It was me. All me.

Never, ever underestimate the power of a good rally cap.

That's all I'm saying.

Listening To A Game On The Radio

"I watch a lot of baseball on the radio."

-- Gerald Ford

Garage radio 4-25-14

"I would get a pillow and I would crawl under the radio, 

so that the loudspeaker and the roar of the crowd would wash all over me, 

and I would just get goose bumps like you can't believe. 

And I knew that of all the things in this world that I wanted, 

I wanted to be that fella saying, whatever, home run, or touchdown. 

It just really got to me."

-- Vin Scully, aka The voice of the Dodgers

"Part of the ineffable radio experience is the pace of baseball,

fraught with its pauses and ellipses.

The flights of memory and wit that fill these gaps are why baseball's

great radio voices are also master storytellers."

--  Bruce Dowbiggin, "What's Better Than a Road Trip 

With a Baseball Game On The Radio?" The Globe and Mail

Our TV was on the blink for a couple of days -- something went funky with the cable or something. It would only stay on for 15 seconds or so before the screen went blank.

Which is a problem when the game is on.

So I went Old School for the last two Indians/Royals games and listened to them on the radio.

Sure, I listen to games on the radio from time to time, if I'm working outside in the garden, or on a project that keeps me upstairs in my workspace, or if I'm in the car. But this time I didn't even try multitask. I just stretched out on the floor under a blanket and listened to the radio voices tell me pitch by pitch, hit by hit, out by out, play-by-play, inning by inning, exactly what was happening on the diamond at Progressive Field.

And you know what? I didn't miss the visuals at all, because the familiar voices of Cleveland's ace broadcasters Tom Hamilton and Jon Rosenhaus expertly painted in all of the colors and shapes and details and atmosphere for me, while my very own imagination supplied all of the imagery.

And because there weren't a dozen little icons constantly reminding me of strike counts, and pitch counts, or how many outs there were, or what inning it was, or who was at bat, or where the base runners were, or the arc of the ball or the location of the pitch etc., I had to think a little bit and stay in it and pay attention.

It was like listening to a really great story where I had to remember what happened earlier, and didn't know what would happen next, and couldn't wait to find out. It was like reading the book instead of taking the easy way out and watching the movie instead.

The TV is fixed. Which is a good thing. I guess.

A Beer At The Ball Game

"Beer needs baseball, 

and baseball needs beer --

it has always been thus."

-- Peter Richmond

Beer bottle caps 4-214

" ... there is only one game at the heart of America and that is baseball,

and only one beverage to be found sloshing at the depth of our national soul and that is beer."

-- Peter Richmond

Beer and opener 4-21-14

Ray Kinsella:

"So what do you want?"

Terence Mann:

"I want them to stop looking to me for answers, begging me to speak again,
write again, be a leader.

I want them to start thinking for themselves.
I want my privacy."

Ray Kinsella:

"No, I mean, what do you WANT?"

(gestures to the concession stand)

Terence Mann:

"Oh. Dog and a beer."

-- Field of Dreams

I've been seriously trying to curb my alcohol consumption. I'm doing it for a number of reasons, but primarily because alcohol seriously fucks with my sleep.

After a long, drawn-out, desperately-hard-fought battle with insomnia, trust me, a solid night's sleep is a lot more satisfying than a drink.

But what is a recovering insomniac girl to do when she's at a baseball game on a perfectly sunny day and she wants to enjoy the pure, simple pleasure of a cold beer? Every baseball fans knows beer and baseball just go together. It's a no-brainer, one of those unwritten laws of humanity, and baseball.

So you feel kind of left out when you're at the game and everyone around you is slurping a foamy, amber, cold one and you're, well, not. 

We spent Easter day at the Indians vs. Blue Jays game (Tribe won 6 to 4). The beer yearning started on the drive over, and then intensified sharply as we walked to our seats (which were awesome, by the way), and past every single beer vendor on the concourse. And this is Cleveland, people. Cleveland is a beer town. So the beer choices at Progressive Field are vast and wide, including everything from from the typical big name stuff, to a huge and lovely selection of little-known craft beers and local brews, offered every which way -- in cans, in bottles, on tap. I've heard that they even tweak their beer selections throughout the year to appeal to fans of the visiting clubs. And we were playing a team from Canada, for fuck's sake.

I was a sitting duck.

But I had a strategy.

At home, I've become quite the connoisseur of non-alcoholic beers. Don't judge. Some of them are pretty damned tasty if you give them a chance, and if you aren't in it for the beer buzz. My favorites are a German one (Kaliber, by Guinness) and a Canadian one (Labatt's, by duh Labatt's). Coors is a close third. Sharp's and O'Doul's are at the bottom of the beer barrel.

Anyway, I figured that any baseball stadium offering Spotted Cow Ale had to serve at least one n/a brew. 

My dear and persistent husband asked at almost every beer stand we passed. The concessionaires all shook their heads. Some referred us vaguely to a restaurant way back and up one level at the far stadium entrance that might have it, but they weren't sure.

Leo was getting a little impatient with the search.

Him: "Why don't you just get a Bud Light? It's the same thing."

Me: "I am not going off the wagon for a Bud Light."

Then we struck gold. Or amber. Or, well, watery amber, but still, it was better than nothing.

The last place we passed before our section had O'Doul's.

It took a while to get it, because the clerk couldn't find the button for it on her register, because there wasn't one. She said we were the first people to ask for it all season. She wasn't even sure how much to charge for it. My husband convinced her to charge me the soft drink price (since there's no booze in it), and he even finagled me a souvenir drink cup. (It helps to have a really cute husband in situations like this).

Clutching my hard-won prize, we made it to our seats and I took my first long sip. Yes, it was a little watery. Yes, the flavor was a little thin. But it was cold and foamy and fizzy.

Licking the foam from my lips, I didn't feel left out. I felt like part of the crowd.

It was a little thing, but a good thing.

Best of all, it was beer. 

And even better than that -- I slept like a baby.