My Team is Better Than Yours

My baseball team is better than your baseball team.

When Karen and I go to a baseball game, as we did on Sunday, we drive our car to a ferry.

 

We board the board the boat and set off on a one-hour cruise that includes sights such as

 

 

Alcatraz Island and the Golden Gate Bridge,

 

 

the graceful skyline of one of America's great cities,

 

 

and some always-impressive public works projects. Plus a dolphin and a sea lion. So, you know, it's already a pretty good day even before the boat gets to the ballpark.

 

 

Where it pulls up to a dock steps away from the leftfield gate

 

 

conveniently close to where our seats were.

 

Other reasons my baseball team is better than your baseball team: my baseball team sells garlic fries,

 

 

is adorned with a giant baseball glove and Coke bottle,

and has a very cute Despicable Me blimp floating overhead.

 

 

After a good three hours sitting in the sun refreshed by cool Bay breezes, when my baseball team is done losing 4-1 to the despised Dodgers (despite my personal, repeated and heartfelt exhortations of "Beat L.A.!" and "we want a pitcher, not a belly-itcher!"), we get to thrillingly re-enact Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds"

 

 

as thousands of gulls descend on the stadium to eat our discarded garlic fries and other treats. I don't know how they all know when the game's over; maybe they carry teeny transistor radios and earbuds. Then we get back on the boat,

 

 

which courteously waits a half hour after the game to cast off, and go back the way we came.

 

A perfect day? No. But definitely one of the great ones.