The Flogging Will Continue Until the Losing Stops
This weekend, I finally caught a game with my season ticket partners. Sharing a plan had the paradoxical effect of keeping us from seeing as many games together, and a lot of our experiences were shared by e-mail or phone rather than at the park. To my surprise, we all independently came to the same conclusion:
"I wonder how much we'd love the stadium and the experience if the team didn't . . . stink."
We're all of a certain age - we're not there to drink, we're not there to chat up our date, we're not there on a tour of the nation's ballparks, and we're not introducing our kids to baseball. We're there as fans of the Washington Nationals.
The woeful Washington Nationals.
As we waited in a concession line for nearly 40 minutes on Friday night, praying the rains would only delay the first pitch by a few minutes, we agreed that it's much easier to tolerate the inefficiency when the club is playing .500 ball, or you at least know the names of your starting nine
(After nearly half a season, they STILL have the same employee finding a hot dog, putting it in the bun, drawing a beer, and going to get a soda? Is Henry Ford's amazing "assembly line" concept still lost on them?)
It was great fun to be in a full stadium, in the midst of a three-out-of-four skein. Even if it is a short-lived dream. All of the oft-repeated indignities (autocratic ushers; smiling-but-seemingly-brain-dead cashiers; "Sweet Caroline") were cause only for casual laughter. Winning really *does* excuse a multitude of sins.
If only I can hang on 'til the winning comes.
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