The Wrong Photo


July 7th, 2008, a Monday

These days when you have the anticipated pleasure of attending a Diamondbacks game at Chase Field in air conditioned comfort in the middle of the desert summer, it can be quite a letdown when the Diamondbacks themselves don't show up.  Especially when its a sell-out on the Fourth of July immediately following a 6 run bottom of the ninth inning to win the night before.  (Don't get me started on why this team can't get it together because even though I'm a believer and the most loyal fan ever, I've about had it with these guys.) 

Luckily, there is a lot more to see at a game than just baseball.  It's a little slice of life featuring the way people eat, the way they dress, what they talk about, how they celebrate and how they handle disappointment (lots of it).  It can be as simple as how irritated your fellow rowmates get when you have to leave to go potty or get something to eat when your seats are in the middle of the row.  Some of them are happy to jump up and let you through while others groan and let you know they wish you would just stay put. 

There were the three girls on one side of us, dressed kind of skanky, looking lothargic, almost dazed.  They asked a lady to take their picture and the largest of the three jumped right onto the lap of one of her companions, causing potential bodily harm.  Later she feasted on a huge cookie (which explained her body composition but not her tatoos) and promptly fell right asleep (more like passed out), head on the shoulder of the poor girl with the lap.  From my perspective, she had a rough night.     

Then there were the four young women behind us.  They arrived just as the game was starting, slowly making their way into the seats with hands full of food and drink.  They held a running conversation, and I do mean running, about everything under the sun.  Mostly it involved tales of their trip to so and so and how they drank all day, ate junk food (including the time they were all buying cinammon rolls and chips when one of their crowd just kept saying she preferred fruit and can you believe that?), and went to bars all night.  Yes, they said, those were good times.  They discussed upcoming trips and when one of them would be in New York and DC on business if anyone wanted to join her later this month.  They dissed the high notes of the woman who sang the National Anthem.  I am hoping they missed her introduction while they were talking and eating, the part where we learned that her brother had been killed in Iraq which explained her powerful and emotional rendition of the song.  Please tell me they missed that part.  My favorite moment was when one of them, seeing the announcement of bobble head day coming up, said to the other, "Do you have the Bob Melvin, NL Manager of the Year Bobble Head Doll?"  "No, not yet", she said.  "Oh, do you collect bobble head dolls?", she asked.  "No."  Honestly, I just kept thinking that someday guys were going to marry these chicks.  

Then there was the older couple next to me.  He was a very stoic man, deeply disappointed in the performance of the team.  He wore the dashed hopes and dreams of a victory all over his face and I didn't hear him utter a word the entire night.  There was the middle aged couple in the row behind me.  She quietly chirped away in Spanish most of the night much to the delight of her husband who kept his arm around her the entire time.  And my personal favorites, the serious baseball couple two rows ahead with an empty seat between them.  They shared a pair of earphones, each using one, so they could hear the call on the radio at the same time, and when they felt the team needed them the most, earnestly started the clapping drill that started slow and got faster and faster, each time expecting the entire crowd to go along.  That rarely, if ever, happened but they had on their earphones so didn't really notice.  Or care actually.  

But I couldn't take my eyes off the little family in front of me.  Two parents and three kids, a baby boy and two little girls, maybe three and five.  All dressed in Diamondbacks shirts, they were all smiles.  The parents were completely dedicated to making it a fun experience for the kids, communicating with glances that seemed to tell the other exactly what the next move would be.  The baby would be on one lap while the little girls played together under the watchful eye of the other parent.  The kids really liked each other, the girls being especially attentive to the baby.  We ran into the mom and kids in the ladies room and she was unbelievably patient with them, skillfully changing the diaper while keeping a close eye on the girls, always talking quietly to them.  They didn't fuss, cry, or misbehave one time.  The only food they bought was one stick of cotton candy, shared by all, and savored in little, tiny bites by the girls.  Even the fireworks didn't scare them a bit.  The baby's eyelids were getting heavy by then but he fought to stay awake in his mother's arms while the little girls sat on Dad's lap, one arm around each of them.  When he went off to buy the cotton candy, the older girl thought it was taking too long and she became concerned.  She didn't cry but big tears just started spilling out of her eyes while quietly asking her Mom where Dad was and when he was coming back.  Judging from his very short hair and demeanor, I guessed that he may have been military and has probably said goodbye to his family at least once.  And it may have taken him a long while to return.  What an inspiration this family was to me.  I wanted to tell the kids how lucky they were and I wanted to thank the hard working parents for making love look so simple and natural. 

It was funny to watch everyone pull out their tiny digital cameras when the fireworks started.  They aimed them up at the sky, flashes lighting up the dark stadium.  I wondered if they would ever look at bad photos of fireworks, if they would even bother to download and print them.  If they had just aimed the camera at their family and friends watching the fireworks, that would have been something to see.  Because we were all oohing and aahing at the noisy spectacle so much a part of an American Fourth of July.  We should always remember to aim the camera at the important things.

GR