Now a lawyer is taught to deal in ambiguities, but is also taught to write as clearly as possible. I believe my writing has been particularly clear on this point, to wit, that I've been dealing with the loss of my city as best I can and my little coping strategies, a good meal here, a walk (rather than a drive) there, makes the loss tolerable.
So it is with some credibility to say that I was looking forward to the Yankees' arrival in the Valley of the Sun for some time. I have had the tickets in my hand since March.
Last week, the Diamondbacks sent me an email, reminding me that I had bought tickets to the game. That was nice of them. I appreciated the little reminder, even though I wasn't capable of forgetting. Sunday, they sent me yet another reminder, this time including information concerning the starting pitchers. A.J. Burnett was going to start for the Yankees. Like a gentile child on December 24th, the next day couldn't arrive soon enough.
My hypochondria always leads me to believe that I will get sick the day of, or just before any day, that I am highly anticipating. I woke up yesterday morning, swallowed, and detected no sore throat. That's good! The kids and The Doctor also seemed in good health. Also good! All systems appear go for the evening!
There was no trouble during the day. The Doctor had six cases that day, but she was finished with five before 1 pm. She wouldn't be running late! By 2 pm, I could already smell the Yankees' glove oil.
I picked my daughter up from school, and even she was excited to see the Yankees! She kept mentioning them in the car. This only fed my anticipation to share the experience with her.
In retrospect, I probably should have called it a night right there.
Just as we're ready to head down to Chase Field, my son decides he would like to scream. He's tired and doesn't yet know that falling asleep is easier than crying about it.
It's OK - the car ride usually relaxes him.
My son's wailing puts the Doctor on edge, especially when it seems that my daughter is starting to get stressed out as well.
It's OK - let's just get everything into the car, maybe everyone's disposition will improve once we're on the road.
I try to get things organized and get moving. The Doctor takes this moment to again state her distaste for the Yankees.
It's OK - she doesn't have to like the Yankees. There will be more than enough Yankees fans there for me to connect with. A New Yorker is a New Yorker, regardless of where he or she may actually be located.
We barely make it a block away from the base before my son ramps up the volume and intensity. I have to pull over and let The Doctor have a moment to calm him down.
I'm trying to focus on the goal of several months of waiting. A goal that is an hour or so away. I'm trying to help The Doctor calm an upset and tired baby, as well as discipline an emotional toddler. I'm trying to keep the child supplies organized, so we can all make it to the game where the entire family can share in Dad's enthusiasm, maybe.
What I didn't notice is that, in my distracted state, when I pulled over, I hadn't put the car in park, I had just left my foot on the break. When The Doctor asked for some help with my son, the car rolled forward a few inches.
No one was hurt, but it was an inexcusable error. The Doctor had now had enough and wanted to go home.
I didn't handle this news so well. Not my finest moment.
After we all had a chance to calm down, we set out again for Chase Field. At least my daughter was still showing some enthusiasm.
Indeed, there were many, many Yankees fans in attendance. We found our seats in a section that contained row after row of navy blue. The evening was looking up.
In the top of the first, a Yankee fan found his seat behind us. He had one of those raspy yells. He wasn't shy about using it. Every yell made my son, already cranky and tired, jump and wake up. It was irritating. My daughter kept fidgeting, kicking the seats, forcing the other Yankee fans to concentrate on the game to ignore her. I didn't get to do much connecting with the New Yorkers.
Yankees were three up, three down in the top of the first. It was a seven pitch side, tops. The Doctor convinced Hannah to clap for the Yankees outs, at least when my daughter's hands weren't full of hot dog.
Then the D-Backs came to the plate. A.J. Burnett gave up three home runs, five runs total. In the bottom of the first. With my cranky son, my fidgeting daughter, The Doctor (who I know doesn't want to be there) making fun of the score, the cramped seats and the irritating Yankee fan behind me, I suddenly don't want to be here either. Burnett was gone after four. We were gone after three.
Thanks very much there, fellers. So much for my little piece of the Bronx in the Valley. A team with the best record in baseball right now shouldn't be getting blown out ten to four by a team at the bottom of their division. This is especially true when I'm in the stands.
So last night, despite my expectations, didn't work out the way I'd hoped.
I could really use a good bagel right about now.
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