Six Flags Over Texas: The line at El Vibora, a rickety, yellow-and-red toboggan-like roller
coaster, snaked on forever. In front of us stand two couples and a mixed medley
of children. One couple wears precisely matching green and yellow shorts and
polo shirts. The other adults are sporting T-shirts quoting fundamentalist
slogans. “Jesus saves,” “Open your heart to the Lord,” that kind of thing. Each
child eagerly chows down rather large bags of pork rinds. Behind us, a large,
clearly lesbian Spanish couple. The muggy air is still. We’re in the hut where
the line moves up and down, down and up, as we edge toward the still-invisible
ride. Wedged in this relentlessly claustrophobic environment, the moment was at
hand to explain to my companion, Kelly, how to score a baseball game.
Like the All-American fullback who has four daughters, my girlfriends on the
whole have known little or nothing about sports. A typical story: My ex-wife is
meeting my father for the first time. Dad is lounging in his accustomed spot
watching the Jets on Monday Night Football. The ex, trying gamely to engage the
old man on his turf asks, innocently enough, “Which one’s Joe Namath?” Okay I
think, so far so good. “He’s the quarterback,” the old man says. Uh-oh, I
think. A pregnant pause, then, “What’s a quarterback?”
If the ex stood somewhere around the monkey on the sport’s evolutionary scale,
then Kelly is far more advanced, beginning to rub rocks together. Her view of
baseball: “No one ever does anything. A pitcher throws the ball (not too bad,
at least she knows what a pitcher is), someone catches it. Sometimes someone
runs somewhere. It’s a bunch of guys standing around doing nothing. No wonder
Babe Ruth was so fat.” Though not a totally inexact description, I felt she was
missing some of the subtle nuances of the game, which is why I’m standing in
this oppressive line, explaining the intricate numerology of scorekeeping. A
trip to Six Flags — a necessary inducement — is spaced around her first two
ball games.
With an sour predisposition toward the game, it was incumbent on me to walk a
fine line between overselling or leaving her so baseball-ignorant her notions
would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Driving to Dallas, I gently probed for
ground zero. Trying not to be too insulting, I discovered she knew about balls
(four) and strikes (three). There was some confusion about innings. Okay, she
had a fuzzy understanding of the force play. North of Waco, I embarked upon an
absolutely necessary primer on the unfortunate history of the Texas Rangers.
Engrossed in a crossword puzzle (a natural scorekeeper!), I don’t think she
heard a word.
I’d tried to explain the difference in watching a game on TV and seeing one
live. I was pleased to see her wide-eyed fascination with the sights, smells,
and sounds of a baseball game. She was gratified to see walls around the park
instead of an open field. She — like any good fan — was interested in the
wide varieties of cuisine. She was excited to see real live peanut vendors.
Since it was Nolan Ryan Appreciation Weekend, the Rangers were replaying
moments of Ryan’s seven no-hitters. This led to an animated, wildly confusing
dialog on why anyone would think a game, when nobody hit the ball, was
exciting. It took a few moments before I understood how literally she took the
term “no-hitter.” She asked why those people were all standing around at home
plate before the game talking to the referees. After we got the umpire/referee
nomenclature straight, she noted how stupid 55-year-old men look in baseball
uniforms. I’d never thought about it before. Can you imagine Bob Hill in
basketball shorts? Good point.
Things Kelly liked. Food: chicken tenders, nachos, beer, funnel cakes
and Big Kahuna bars. The restrooms: The Rangers would be pleased to hear
a first-time visitor found them clean, plentiful and line-less. Gun’s `N
Roses: “Welcome to the Jungle” played before the game. The Dot Race. The seventh-inning stretch with the obligatory “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Scorekeeping. Walking around the park, yet missing nothing at all.
The Jumbotron scoreboard. The organ.
Things Kelly didn’t like. Nolan Ryan: “Who does he think he is?” she
grumbled as he rode into the park in a luxury car, regally waving to all, “The
President?” Hot dogs (I disagreed and scarfed her leftovers) and
pizza (It was bad). Other fans selfishly sitting in front of
us, depriving her of comfortable footrests. Mickey Tettleton: In these
politically sensitive times, her repeated, persistent remarks regarding the
Ranger DH must remain private. Time between innings: She noted that
basketball players don’t shoot baskets after time-outs, football teams don’t
run mock plays in between quarters, why must baseball players play catch with
each other between innings? The scoreboards: Too much stupid information
(like runs, hits and errors). The Rangers: After 18 innings of watching
Texas play listless baseball — losing twice to a sorry Milwaukee team — no
heated explanations of “magic numbers” and the overwhelming improbability of
losing a seven-game lead with 14 to play would sway her view of the Rangers as
“pathetic losers.”
From the mouths of babes…. n
This article appears in September 20 • 1996 and September 20 • 1996 (Cover).