Happy Tuesday that feels like Monday, everyone! I hope you all had a great Memorial Day Weekend. I had a big dose of Instagram envy with everyone’s photos of cookouts, beach trips and pitchers of sangria. Since Mike and I just got back from Texas, we spent the weekend being broke and catching up on things like grocery shopping and laundry. Thrilling, yes?
Anyways – today’s blog post will be the last one from my Texas mini-series and then it’s back to business as usual.
The day Mike and I arrived in Texas, on the way to his dad’s house we passed the Minute Maid stadium where the Houston Astros play. I mumbled something from the backseat along the lines of “oh how fun would it be if we went to a game,” and before I knew it, Mike’s dad had secured four tickets to Monday night’s game against the Kansas City Royals. Mike and I were both excited to spend the last night of our trip downing hot dogs and beer and occasionally watching a play or two.
After breaking the bank at the concessions stands, Mike, his dad, his brother Evan and I walked around the entire stadium and eventually wandered over to our seats which were only a few rows behind the dugout. I’ve only been to one or two baseball games in my entire life and these were by far the best seats I’ve ever had. It made for an entirely different experience of the game.
Now, I have no shame in admitting that I:
1. Have zero interest in sports and,
2. Think baseball is a pretty boring sport at that, but there’s something about the comradery of cheering and booing with a large group of strangers that makes the experience a fun one, even if I’m not all that interested in the game itself.
There was a very large gentleman a few rows behind us who clearly had a few screws loose and maybe had one too many beers. He had several papers in his hand of what must have been Google translations and for the entire first half of the game, was screaming out phrases in butchered Spanish. It was funny for the first few minutes and downright unbearable by the time the first inning was over. Before I knew it, after people had gained their own liquid courage, the crowd began yelling obscenities back at the drunken, obnoxious Google translation fanatic.
To add to the night’s antics, there were four men in the row in front of us, one who had clearly overestimated his beer limit by a longshot and went through the four stages of drunk in a matter of minutes, from anger, to depression, to laughing hysterically to passing out. His friends continued to buy themselves beer with his money after he had checked out for the evening.
It was way more entertaining than any baseball game.
After a few more hotdogs and a yard long margarita (which was deliciously potent), we left the game around 9:15 in the hopes of grabbing some late night last minute barbeque. After getting stuck in traffic and missing our chance at some delicious Texas style grub, we stopped at Taco Bell, ordered some burritos and called it a night.
The Astros won the game.
It was the perfect way to end our trip.