Gone East

So, when I took the 3 students to the A's vs. Mariners game last friday, I spent most of my time talking to the Seattle fan. I've known the A's fan and the (spits on the ground as he prepares to say the name) Yankee fan for a few years. Noah from Seattle is a new student. In a debate team analogy, he's the novice amongst the varsity members, and I always had a soft spot for my novices. We sat four in a row, and Noah and I mainly talked amongst ourselves. And even tho it was too my advantage to see Seattle lose, I found myself rooting for them against the A's, and most of my barbed comments that night ("First round losers, baby -- the trend is gonna continue.") were against Kyle and his A's, although I did throw a shot at Robbie the (vomits profusely on the ground) Yankees fan a jab ("Kyle has to get thru us to get to you, but I wouldn't count on you being the ones we beat for the AL championship -- remember the Angels!"). My rooting for Seattle that night was because I was getting primed to be against the A's, and I knew Seattle wasn't going to survive to the playoffs and I wanted to make a good night for the novice. So I rooted for him and watched him grow as an opposing fan amongst all the home town fans. In the first inning, Seattle's pitcher -- their worst according to Noah --- was getting rocked and was lucky to get away with only one run scored. Noah made a feeble yell in support of his team when they were up in the second, but as the game grew on, he got bolder and louder. It helped that in front of us were sitting five hottie members of the Santa Clara University Women's Cross Country team. The team seems to have a lot of Washington state residents, and their cheering emboldened Noah.

So today, Noah came into my office in the afternoon. He looked a bit shellshocked -- mostly from the exam and paper he had due in the past few days -- and I started to shout out TWO!, which was the magic number at the time, and he looked and me with these pleading eyes and said "Take it easy on me, okay?" He wanted this one a lot, and he thought they had their best shot in a while, and looking at his face reminded me of Bucky Dent and that stupid home run, and he who's name is never to be spoken and the ball between his legs, and Pudge and Fred Lynn and Roger "Denied #300 in Boston!" going someplace else to play, and that last horrible seventh game in 1967 when I was twelve.

So I took it easy on the kid, told him my stories, and told him he has to build up a thick skin if you want to be a baseball fan.

When he left I scruffed the top of his head and told him I'd appreciate it if he roughs up the A's next week for me.