Real Baseball
Strangest thing happened last night. I went to the Angels-A's game with an old buddy from college, but that old laid-back Orange County vibe was nowhere to be found.
It's been a long time since the Angels played any meaningful games in September, and it was pretty cool to be there for one last night. It was a great game - a 2-1 pitcher's duel with some sparkling defensive plays and clutch strikeouts. Sadly, the Angels lost, but what a great game.
The best part was the crowd.
Southern California is a magnet for people from all over the country - heck, the world. And when they get here, they don't give up their old sports loyalties. I've been to several Yankees-Angels at the Big A, and the crowds get pretty boisterous - cheering for the good old Bronx Bombers. It's a strange thing, wondering if you're going to get beat up for supporting the home team.
I must admit, I've never been to a playoff game - but I think the phrase "playoff atmosphere" describes the situation last night. The crowd was in it from the first inning - cheering on a two-strike count, booing the pickoff throws, getting loud when the Angels threatened, throwing back A's home run balls, questioning the dubious lineage of Oakland relief pitchers as they trotted by on their way to the mound. But here's the coolest thing - and it started with an A's rally. In the 6th inning the A's had the bases loaded with nobody out. Things did not look good for my Angels. A small contingent of A's fans started chanting "Let's Go Oakland."
Under normal circumstances at the Big A, this sort of thing would go completely unnoticed. But last night I witnessed something new: Assertive Angels Fans. "Not in my house!" seemed to sweep through the crowd. Two new chants rose up out of the home-team fans - a chorus of "Shut Up!" and the more polite (but still assertive) "Let's Go Angels!" drowned out the cursed A's fans. Wow. Never thought I'd see (or hear) that at polite, conservative Anaheim Stadium.
Two strikeouts and a lazy fly ball later, the A's half of the sixth ended, leaving them empty-handed. Woo Hoo! (I am a little hoarse today.)
And now - a few observations:
1. If you are old enough to buy a beer, you are too old to bring a mitt to the ballpark. By about 8 years. Give me a break.
2. If you snatch a foul ball away from a little kid you are going to hell so fast you'll pass the guy who shot the Pope on the way down.
3. I totally get the whole "throw the visiting team's home run balls back" thing. But if I ever catch one I'm keeping it for Cameron, I don't care who hit the damn thing.