A few minutes with Jakey Rooney
I did yesterday while taking in a Tigers game at Comerica Park.
Cheers. Chuckles. Cacophony. Chaos.
An entire row of tween girls left in the second inning and didn't return until the eighth. That was the good part, come to think about it.
A man who was old enough to know better audibly kept trying to decide whether to ride the carousel or the Ferris wheel. Guess he called an audible when he got there.
A few rows in front of us, a group kept gabbing about somebody's birthday, singing and standing while blocking my view of home plate.
"Seriously?" I said. "I have a birthday every year."
It is a free country, in theory, but why would one pay good money to NOT watch the game? (Jets fans need not answer.)
Maybe I am not the best barometer. I keep score. Rap music is repugnant. The only wave I want to see is from the Fox Sports Detroit girls.
I had just about had enough, loudly lamenting the HDTV receiver and my recliner, when Alex Aliva went deep with what proved to be the game winner.
"You know," I said, looking down on the green field of glory, "I carry on and complain, and yet I love this damned ol' game."
It's so good, in fact, that I wished these folks had watched.